Tempestas the 189th Games
by LongingForRomeo
Summary: When Head Gamemaker Aetius Valter is challenged to make a Game's like no others he feels over his head. Facing an inward rebellion and a soft President he wonders how he will manage it. That is until he meets the Tributes. These Tributes are one of a kind and ready to fight, love and go against the norms. Let the 189th Hunger Games Begin! SYOT Closed Viewers can sponsor.
1. Lap Dog Of The Capitol (PRE-REAPINGS)

**Aetius Valter, 54, The Capitol.**

A mirror is perched on the table beside his work, looking into it he sees one of the most powerful men in Panem looking back. The reflection smiles when he doe. The man waves at his reflection, and the reflection waves back. The mans dark hair is flicked with slivers of grey and his emerald green eyes look tired. The eyes are too green, modified in the Capitol when the man was younger.

He clenches a tanned fist, training his eyes up his reflection, he spots largely muscled arms. The man is an anomaly in the Capitol, a powerful man that has no pot belly or sagging cheeks. Instead muscles in the way younger men hope to be. He feels pride in his appearance, but more pride in the position he he has attained for himself. Again, he smiles into the mirror and it is too easy to see the handsome younger man he once was.

An envelope sits on his desk, he spotted it the moment he walked into his office but took his time before opening it, placing his bags on the floor near his tough leather boots and taking off his coat, it hangs loosely on the back of his wooden chair, scraping gently on the dark paneling of the floors.

He sits, staring at his reflection. His hands shake gently, partly in fear and partly in anticipation, in which this letter holds the key. He takes a deep breath, his adam's apple bobs in a large motion as he swallows his nerves before he picks up a crimson letter opener. It is shaped like a curved sword, he got gifted it after the victor of last years games Bastion Steele killed seven tributes with the weapon.

It was a gift from the President herself, though she did not deliver it to him nor did anyone on her behalf. He simply found the gift sitting on his desk the morning after the games were completed. The man suppresses a shiver at the memory, it is the same woman who has written the letter in front of him.

He slides the sword around the fold in the envelope, cutting effortlessly through the shining wax seal that has been placed upon it, its as sharp as the victors sword. Opening it delicately with nimble fingers he pulls out a letter made from heavy paper. He opens it carefully, like he was handling a loaded gun and reads the words out loud, his deep voice shaky.

 _Mr Valter,_

 _I would like to congratulate you on yet another successful year of the games. Since you were first appointed resident participation in the games has gone up 110% and the average time watched in each session has gone up 87%. Those are successful numbers in deed._

The man lets out a breath he did not know he was holding as he stares at the perfectly calligraphed writing in front of him. He allows himself to feel triumph for a moment before his eyes skim ahead to the next line of writing. It sinks lower than the tunnels that the Avoxes clean underneath him.

 _However, despite this I personally have become tired of the same old tropes shown in the games. My personal challenge for you this year is to give me something different, give me something tempestas._

 _Tempestas_. An old word for storm. He slumps forward onto the desk, running his hands through his hair he knows he must give the president what she wishes. Hurriedly grabbing for his bag he pulls out concepts he has been given for the arena, the first one he balls up straight away, throwing it into the bin by his feet he slams a clenched fist into the desk. The sound echos roughly around him.

He pushes the next design onto his desk, his eyes lighting up as he studys it more. Reaching for the phone hanging on the wall he dials the numbers of the creator. Just as the man picks up he glances back at the bottom of the letter.

 _Don't let me down,_

 _President Crimson._

No, he will not let her down the man vows. Not in a thousand lifetimes.

 _Author's note: This is infact a SYOT, the tribute form and available spaces can be found on my profile :) Planning on updating at least once a week. Please only submit tributes through PM not reviews. Heads up! The more you comment the longer your tribute will live._

 _May the odds ever be in your favour._


	2. Perceptions To Be Kept (PRE-REAPINGS)

**Ziva Crimson, 27, The Capitol.**

"It's the day of the reapings, you should be out celebrating." The other woman's soft caramel voice cuts through to the one who appears to be sleeping. She gets up from a hunched position, shaking out her arms at her sides. She feels her elbows issue soft pains at the position they have held her in for hours, she sigh deeply.

The standing woman's arms wrap around the one who just got up and their lips meet in a soft caress. "You know I can't" She tells her, looking down at the list of names she wrote out, it took her five tries to get the calligraphy just right. Even secret letters must be perfect in the Capitol.

Turquoise eyes blink down at her, scanning the names. "There are less than usual" she states softly, her voice is etched in surprise. The other woman nods back, continuing to stretch out her muscles, she has been hunched over in her own thoughts for hours. "Less unrest in the districts this year after the 8% rations increase."

Turquoise eyes squeal in surprise, but this time the good kind. "I told you that plan would work out."

She leans forward, brushing her lips against the others cheek "yes you did." She whispers into her ear, moving her face away she leaves a trail of goosebumps in her wake.

But her eyes spot a picture behind the two and she feels a familiar pang of guilt, it shows the woman's father and mother, locked eternally in youth inside of the portrait. The other woman is quick to notice "hey, its not your fault" she says, arms wrapped together she sounds as if talking to an injured animal.

She look into the women's eyes trying to believe her. She sees her own reflection inside of them, caramel coloured skin, dark chestnut hair and hazel eyes, a slim build and wrinkled clothes. She does not see the president of Panem.

"I never said goodbye" she whispers, her voice cracking. Her parents had left seven years ago on a cool morning, they went to get breakfast with the head game maker and some other important Capitol citizens. They wanted her to come, but she was running a fever the night before so they let her sleep.

She woke up to the news that there had been an accident. A car crash. Her parents were dead, so was the head game maker and she was to be the ruler of Panem. It all happened so quickly, she was never given the time to mourn. The youngest president in Panem history never gets a moment to herself. She thinks father was a lot better at the job, he was better at putting the Capitol citizens first. But this woman puts _her_ people first, all of them. When she was appointed to this position she swore to protect all of her citizens.

She has broken that promise everyday since, she thinks that she must be the biggest liar in Panem. The wealthiest too. Anya understands this, she can see it clearly in her expression.

"They will understand" Anya tells her, the two women have had this conversation countless times but it still opens new waves of grief inside of her. They say some scars are too deep to heal, but hers run across her body like open wounds. She hopes her parents do understand when she see them again. But she's not sure if the afterlife exists, or that she deserves it. Not with the pageant that she puts on every year. 161 children dead on her watch. The number bounces around her skull threatening to crack to the bone.

"I need to deliver this" She nods her head toward the letter as she pull out of the woman's arms, their lips connect once more, causing butterflies to rise in her stomach and making them both feel like the luckiest woman alive. Anya's hands grasps hers briefly as she walks toward her desk, before she lets them lose, her arm falls by her side in the absence of hers.

"You're not a bad person" Anya says to her as she exits room, the President just nods, there are knots in her throat that are too large to get past. Shaking out her shoulders she puts on a stern face that commands power, she lets all traces of the woman she just was go and instead takes on the face that leads a nation.

She walks in the outfit she sat down in over twelve hours ago, stretchy navy jeans, a tight black shirt with a snake scale like pattern woven into and a hood attached, she pulls this hood up to cover her face. Combat boots on and her flowing hair falls in waves by her sides. Smudged makeup and bags can be seen under her eyes. It almost looks like war paint. This is not what a president looks like, it's what a woman does.

No one else is up this early, not on a reaping day. She makes her way down candy coloured streets, navigating a maze of houses like they are the back her hand. And they almost are, she has walked them so many times before, a route warn that is traced daily. Like spiderwebs her path cracks out, easily navigated by her, but dangerous for those who are not the spider.

She arrives swiftly at an elegant house. Marble pillars etched from the ground upward, on the porch sits statues meticulously carved. A fountain is placed in the centre, light up by soft lights that fade into each other in a rhythmic pattern.

A figure moves onto the porch, its Aetius. As head game maker she expects no less from him, she would not of been surprised to find out he not sleep last night, nor the night before. It is exactly what she expects from someone in such an important position as him, as it is only fair, she hasn't had more than four hours sleep in five days.

She knows its critical she is not seen this way, without her makeup or fancy costumes. So she moves around to the back of the house, his study has a porch that looks out to the back garden complete with a sliding door. She made sure of this detail when she arranged for a new house for a new game maker.

Her feet move from a spongy green lawn to hard packed marble as she walks to the door. Silently she opens it with a key she had made years before, she places the letter on top of a stack of paperwork on his large desk.

A soft smile grows from her lips as she sees the tiny sword she had made for him glimmer on a stand he has bought himself. It's not appropriate for her to give gifts in her position, only to receive them it seems. But she thinks she made it clear enough with who it was from.

Taking another moment to study the room she exits as swiftly as she arrived, locking the door behind her as she slips back out onto the street. These moments when she is alone are the best she feels, she doesn't have to be the president then. She can just be herself.

Not a woman placed into a position she never asked for.


	3. A Victors Grief (PRE-REAPINGS)

**Bastion Steele, 19, District 1.**

It takes a shot of whiskey to get him up this morning, and another to have him enter the shower. He's still not used to the hot water that runs from it. He stares down at his feet, his body is too perfect. Not a cut nor scar can be seen on it, the Capitol has made sure of that. Too bad they could not fix his eye, a glass replacement rolls softley in the crevice that is empty as a pit.

The eye got taken from him from by Capitol too, in the form of a petite girl from District Six. She took his eye, he took her life. Not a fair trade, but at least it was one, all the other scars traded to him from the arena disappeared once the Capitol took hold. The young man wishes they had not taken them, he wants something to remind him of those that passed.

He chuckles, as if his nightmares are not enough. He took seven lives in the arena, helped with seven more. He balls his knuckles into a fist. They shake ruefully. Volunteering wasn't anything like they told him it would be. They didn't tell him it would mean he would have constant bags under his eyes, they didn't tell him he would wake screaming to an empty house and they made no mention of the cost it would take to have another humans life.

It was just self defense he tells himself. But was it really self defense when he hunted down the 12 year old from District Six? Was it really self defense when he lopped off the head of the 14 year old boy from District Eight when he begged for his life? They would of killed him he tells himself. But the 17 year old from District Nine that looked pretty as porcelain, and as thin as a twig, would she of really been able to go after him?

He hangs his head in his hands. These are hangman's hands. These hands have dealt death and come close to it themselves. He pictures the cut that used to run across the palms of his hands, a straight line from a swords blade. He used his hands so it would not be his neck, blood ran through his fingertips as he took the blade from the boy who was almost victor. His mind makes the clear water run red as it slips through his fingers.

He shakes the image out of his mind, he will have to mentor a boy this year, he cannot tell him about the pain that come from winning. It is not expected in one, he is surrounded by victors that take pride in their titles. He feels no pride, only shame. Maybe he should of let the boy kill him.

His body may not have the scars it used to but it still packs the muscle he put on training for the games, his eyes may not have the same youthful look to them, but it has been dubbed 'smokey' and 'mysterious.' Never regret.

He's been told he's lucky, victors used to be sold to the highest bidder in the Capitol, until the President put a stop to it five years ago. He's been told the Capitol citizens would pay a high price for him, with his fearsome looks and high kill count. But what victor in one does not?

He tugs as the skin around his thumb, a nervous habit, and watches as he rips too much off. Blood trickles out of the cut, washing away with the hot water. He closes his eyes and rests his forehead on the cool tiles in front of him. He's seen too much blood in his life, he sees it spill everytime he closes his eyes.

This was not how he imagined his life at 19, isolated from the public with his elevated status, shunned by other victors for his mental state and preparing another child for the slaughter. He is still only a child himself, a child who has see too much. And done even more.

 _ **Authors note: I promise you that these characters in the pre-reapings will become more important as the story progresses! Next chapter is District 1 reapings (after the full tribute list that will come out on the same day.**_

 _ **I hope I don't disappoint anyone with the way I write the tributes, I've been putting a tonne of effort in trying to get them right.**_

 _ **As always, let me know what you think.**_

 _ **Until next time… May the odds be ever in your favour.**_


	4. Tribute List

**Tribute List:**

District One Male: _Ace Platinum, 18_ \- Greywolf44

District One Female: _Weiss Forge, 18_ \- Team Shadow

District Two Male: _Nathaniel Mattingly, 18_ \- iridescenteverdeen

District Two Female: _Cassia Slader_ , _16_ \- Booklovin'03

District Three Male: _Callum Lennon_ , _18_ \- FrostyShadow

District Three Female: _Talia Lancaster_ , _15-_ FrostyShadow

District Four Male: _Blake Calloun_ , _17_ \- 66samvr

District Four Female: _Carolyn Aquana, 17_ \- TheAmazingJAJ

District Five Male: _Oliver (Ollie) Apollo, 17_ \- StephenSwiss

District Five Female: _Caroline Hollyhock, 17_ \- jaded-love-pure-hate

District Six Male: _Jerry Kapper, 15_ \- Paradigm of Writing

District Six Female: _Esme Layton, 17_ \- iridescenteverdeen

District Seven Male: _Nirvana Ivanov, 18_ \- BabyRue11

District Seven Female: _Willow Ashes, 16_ \- Team Shadow

District Eight Male: _Weft Loomis, 15_ \- destiny's sweet melody

District Eight Female: _Violet Mercury , 14_ \- Booklovin'03

District Nine Male: _Cole Rockweld, 15_ \- The-Moth-God

District Nine Female: _Kalista Stone, 17_ \- The Girl With The Knives

District Ten Male: _Trafalgar "Trav" Zaun_ , 15 - 66samvr

District Ten Female: _Eva Brath, 14_ \- Team Shadow

District Eleven Male: _Harvest Kohl, 15_ \- curiousclove

District Eleven Female: _Poppy Northrop, 15_ \- curiousclove

District Twelve Male _: Flint Fraser, 13_ \- iridescenteverdeen

District Twelve Female: _Pricilla Winters, 15_ \- Mewkitcat

 _ **Authors note: Thank you to everyone who submitted a tribute. I hope I can write them to a way that will make you happy to of spent your time creating them for me. I just wanted to say I appreciate all that you have done.**_

 _ **Reapings will now be posted twice a week (Tuesday & Friday New Zealand time. This is Monday and Thursday for America and Europe...I think). **_

_**There is no official sponsor system, but if you keep active on the story then message me if your tribute needs something and we can work something out ;).**_

 _ **May the odds be ever in your favour.**_


	5. Hard As Diamonds (D1 - REAPING)

**Weiss Forge, 18, District 1.**

"Push harder" my father's commanding voice rings out through our silent house. I glare at the mitts placed on his hands in front of me. I push my body to go harder despite its protests. I will have over a week to recover, I don't have much longer to train.

I slam my own gloved fists into his mitts, one two, the rhythmic thud becomes a beat, drumming through my skull and pushing me to train harder. Train faster. I feel my muscles throbbing to the beat and let my mind drift to a meditative state, I am above pain, I am above emotions, I am above life itself.

When I see my father break one of his rare smiles I know I have done enough. Slamming my fists once more into the faded red mitts, I relax the muscles. Letting myself feel the pain of my early morning training session, I shake my arms out, not wanting lactic acid to build up inside of them. A pang goes through me when I realize it will be my final session with him. For better or for worse.

My platinum hair falls in waves down to my shoulders as I realise the hair band I had clenching it together. I look into my father deep blue eyes, I see my own identical ones reflected back. Sometimes, when I look into his eyes I can picture the ocean they talk about in District Four. The great mass of blue, stretching as far as the eye can see and then even further. My fathers a bit like that, endless.

I pull my lips up, exposing a toothy grin that I know gets the boys eyes turning inside of the District. He just rolls his eyes at me, pulling off his mitts they slap against the wooden paneling of the floor forebodingly.

"I still don't get why you can't be my mentor" I whine at him as I struggle to undo the straps of my gloves. "You know why." He tells me, sounding like the wisest man alive, he does that sometimes, gets wise beyond his age. But I guess when you've gone through as much as him there's an excuse for it.

I let out a growl of frustration at my fumbling fingers, I rip the velcro off of the gloves with my teeth. My father rolls his eyes at me in an exasperated expression before looks down at his watch and frowns, as if he's late for something. I look down at my elegantly jeweled one and see that I needed to be getting ready fifteen minutes ago.

"Thanks dad" I yell over my shoulder as I make my way out of the room. I climb a spiral staircase, it twists and turns around me as if I was going up a vortex. But I am used to this one. I reach my room with sweat dripping off of the bridge of my nose, I hear it fall onto the floor beneath me making tiny splattering sounds.

Looking out of the window of my room I see dawn just starting to break over the District, painting the marble buildings in the victors village with rich orange and golds. It looks better than any painting I have seen before, I know my District is beautiful and I feel pride knowing I will be representing it soon. Showing off my own beauty to the nation.

I strip off my damp training clothes as I place my body delicately under the hot water of the shower, signing in content as the hot water wraps my body in a fiery embrace. I lose myself in my thoughts that the embrace invokes. Sometimes I wish I could just melt into the water, or become one with the little foamy bubbles that my lavender smelling soup creates.

I am jarred sharpley when I hear loud knocking on the bathroom door. I try to ignore it, picking up some of the delicate bubbles in my hands and watching the light reflecting off of them in a refracted pattern. But the knocking continues, I clench my teeth together, trying not to let this ruin my mood on such a perfect day.

"I'm coming!" I yell in a shrill voice, extremely annoyed about being disturbed. I throw on a light pink, warm and fluffy bathrobe. My lankey fingers tie the cord around my waist as I open the door. It's the softest fabric I have ever felt and everytime I put it on I feel like I am being hugged by a large shaggy bear. "Oh, its you" I groan at the figure I see in front of me.

"Do I mean that little to you?" The figure - Blake - says in mock hurt, holding a hand to his chest. I roll my eyes at him, barely able to contain my smile. He erupts into a crooked grin that creates large dimples on his cheeks.

"Come on" I tell him, leading him back into the bathroom I sit on a stool I placed there last night. I am nothing if not a perfectionist. Blake wastes no time, combing out my hair he starts to dry it with an electric blow dryer. He had never seen one before he meet me, the thought makes me chuckle about the hardships that others have to live with.

I watch Blakes reflection in my meticulously clean mirror, his large frame seems to dominate the marble room, I watch how his veins seem to threaten to pop from his muscular arms, leading up to a mouth with perfectly even dimples, to eyes the colour of sunshine and honey, freckles sprinkle his face delicately and his long shaggy brown hair is worn just like the dogs.

"You've been staring at me for awhile now, Weiss, should Miles be worried?" His voice has a teasing tone but makes me freeze up. A memory floats to the surface, of his well muscled body locked with mine and husky traces of his voice as he whispered my name that night- I shake that thought out of my mind roughly, my cheeks turning pink and my mind clouded with regret.

"Just shut up and make me pretty" I tell him roughly, staring at my feet. He obliges and 40 minutes later I am as pretty as I have ever been due to his help, I shake out the lactic acid from my legs as I stand up, I didn't bother stretching them properly after my workout and am feeling it now. Blake exits the room briefly and I use the time to stretch out my arms, my palms shake in anticipation for what is about to come.

"What is a queen without her dress?" Blake muses to me in a sing song voice before he comes in with a covered garment bag. His voice is higher than many of the other boys, but somehow it fits him perfectly. I raise one eyebrow at him, I had a dress planned out, it lies on the back of the old creaky rocking chair in my room. I can see it still sitting there through a crack in the door.

"Miles thought you would like this one better" Blake whispers into my ear, I jump forward, not realising he had gotten so close and hit into the counter in front of me, slamming my hig against it I groan at the sudden pain. Makeup rains on the floor around me from the jarring motion and I hear a bottle smash. I close my eyes, counting to ten before I open them again. Anger management was something my father drilled into me.

"Just give me the damn dress" I tell him, looking back at his sheepish grin. I know he probably feels bad, but he also wants to be me, a volunteer. So I let him have his childish moment. If he thinks this makes up for the fame I will embrace when in the arena he is wrong.

So, he obliges, sliding the garment bag gracefully into my hands with nimble fingers, barely letting our skin have contact with each others. Before he kneels down on the cool tiles, collecting spilled makeup and turning his usually pale hands into a palette of dark pink, red and blacks.

Leaving him in the room I shut the door with one of my feet, my toenails are painted red artistically and I smile at the design, it was a goodbye present from my little sister. I close my eyes as I take my robe off and slip Blakes dress over my shoulders, it hugs my waist snugly, as if it has been custom made.

Still with my eyes closed I shuffle around my bed until I am standing in front of a mirror the length of my body. I am good at relying on other senses, you can't always guarantee sight. I open my eyes. I don't recognize the woman staring back at me. Large smoky eyes catch my attention first, dark mascara is lined with charcoal eyeliner perfectly positioned, it drips off the bones just above my eyes.

Full red lips are puckered as if ready to kiss, blended dark red cheeks look sexy and mysterious, my jawbone looks sharp as a sword. My face is without a blemish or imperfection in sight. My platinum hair falls in even more waves than usual, creating the illusion that it is in constant motion and shimmers down my back in the light. And the dress, god the dress.

A short off-white piece, sleeveless it dips at the collar bone exposing more cleavage than acceptable for such a somber occasion of a reaping. It fans out at the hips, crating a ruffling pattern that reaches my mid thigh. As I move an arm into the air the dress ripples in the light, matching my hair and causing my whole body to shimmer as if I am an angel sent down to earth and soon to be taken back to heaven. Or hell.

Blake wolf whistles behind me, I turn my body toward him, offering him a beaming smile as I go to hug him. He places an arm around my shoulders as our bodies gently caress. I feel safe inside of his arms. More than I want to admit to anybody. Regret pangs through my body, not for what we did, but what we could of had. I try to shake it away. This is not what I should be thinking.

"Here" he says, holding the large opal necklace my mother gave me last night to the light. It refracts light just like the bubbles in the shower and I turn around and let Blake clasp it around my neck. It hangs heavily in its weight, the Capitol citizens will all be buying opals after they see me. Blake's the only one that is allowed to be this close to me. That has ever been this close to me.

He moves an arm toward my chest, straightening the necklace before giving me a once over. The grin that follows tells me that he must approve. "Go grab your shoes we don't want to be late for your big day" he tells me.

No. We certainly don't.

 **Ace Platinum, 18, District 1.**

The first thing I see when I wake is the smooth silhouette of my girlfriend sleeping next to me, I take a moment to admire her nacked back, her dark caramel skin appears to glow in the light and her coffee-coloured hair drapes to the bottom of her protruding shoulder blades. It curls at the bottom, bouncing playfull against her skin. I wrap an arm around her chest as I plant a soft kiss on her back, feeling the warmth of her body underneath my lips.

"Hey…" She mumbles, sleep clouding her voice as she turns her head toward mine, she sees the grin planted on my face. I practically glow today, today is the day my life starts and I wake from the slumber I have been in for eighteen years previous.

I cup her face in my hands as I plant another kiss on her lips, she moans in pleasure before I bring my face away, relaxing back into my soft bed for a moment longer. Slowly, inch by inch, I move my body to the edge of the bed. I drape a foot over, feeling the cool morning air hit my skin as my foot finds the large shaggy sheepskin rug that sits beside my bed.

"If you go any slower you'll turn into a snail" she teases to me, smirking at my discomfort. I have never been good at getting out of bed in the mornings. The beautiful woman lying next to me does not help. I poke my tongue out at her, wagging my eyebrows. In one swift movement I jump to my feet, pulling the covers with me and exposing both of our naked bodies to the cool air.

"You're a dick" she yells at me, caught off guard by the loss of warmth. The pissed off expression she wears makes my heart melt and reminds me why I fell for her all those years ago. Smirking, I bring the covers back down, wrapping her body back in a cocoon of warmth as I make my way toward the bathroom, turning the tap to full, I feel the lukewarm water run over me, it's warmer than the air and feels smooth and silky against my warn skin.

When I appear out again, with a faded blue towel wrapped around my waist I see she has gotten changed into her reaping outfit. She's never been much for dressing up, wearing tight black jeans with holes at the knees and a faded white shirt that hangs too loosely over her body, on closer inspection it looks like my shirt that went missing a couple months ago. She wears her scruffy blue combat boots over mismatched socks, one of them is also mine.

"I was going to wear that" I frown at her, staring at the sock. "Were you going to wear this too?" She asks, pulling down her jeans slightly at the waist, she exposes my boxer shorts over her toned body. I sigh in exasperation as I open my faded wooden draws.

I pull on my nicest shirt, a grey polo that is missing its top button and put on my second nicest pair of boxers. Taking a page out of her book I snatch up a bright purple sock she left sitting on the floor and pull it over my left foot, on the right goes the sock she didn't steal. I push some basic khaki pants over them.

Some of the boys in my District wear suits to the reaping, I could be one of them - my family certainly is wealthy enough to own a closet full. A diamond could be studded on my ear piercing inside of a piece of chrome and I could have cufflinks worth more than my flat. But I hate charity. I hate taking money from my parents and knowing I could never repay them.

That's why I moved into this flat, its small, the ceiling leaks when it rains and there's no hot water. But it is my own and I can pay the rent myself with the money I earn working in my uncles jewellery shop in town. My parents offered me a job, but it didn't feel right working for them either.

I sweep the floor and convince wealthy residents that they _need_ the latest diamond from my uncle. As well as taking phone calls from the Capitol to sell the exact same thing for triple the price. It works out well for both of us, as I don't ask for as much as other employees. Only enough to live by. For the moment. I will live in luxury once I have won the games.

I stand next to my girlfriend, looking at both of our reflections in the cracked mirror above my dresser. I stand tall, at around six foot and my light blue eyes seem to reflect like ice, her spring green ones contrast nicely and so does my blond hair and her brown. My hair naturally spikes at the front, giving the impression that it has been gelled without me having to waste money on products.

I pull sturdy leather boots over my feet as I sit next to her on the bed, she wraps her arms around my torso, sliding them under my shirt she traces the defined muscles that make their home there. She takes a shaky breath and I look over at the tears that have formed behind her eyes. "Hey, what's wrong?" I ask her softly, taking one of her soft hands gently in my calloused ones.

"Just…" She starts, a lump in her throat stopping her from speaking. I press my lips to her forehead, lending her my strength to continue. "What if you don't make it home? Or I get reaped?" Her words come out in a rush and her eyes look like the animals that we practice hunting in training. Just before making the kill, there is a moment where you connect with the animal, in mutual respect you acknowledge each other, the life about to be taken and the one that's going to take it, she looks like this now and it scares me.

"Don't worry about me, I'm well trained." I tell her, cheekily flexing my bicep and showing off an extremely large, well defined muscle. She chuckles at this but the fear is still clear in her eyes. "As for you, don't worry, I happen to know that Weiss is volunteering this year so you don't have anything to worry about."

She nods, squeezing her hand in mine. I choose not to tell her how well trained Weiss is, or how I've seen her hit a dummy in the head with an axe from 20 meters away. Sighing, I slowly get up off of the bed, looking over my flat for the final time, when I return I will return a victor and have a house in the victors village, if I don't return… well then I won't see this place again.

I lock the door with a final clank, before pressing the key into her hand. She looks at me confused for a moment before nodding. If I don't come home then I want her to have this place, it echos of our memories together and seems wrong just to let it go back to the landlord. She's practically moved in with me at this point as well. There's a shiny tin can hidden in the dresser, it holds enough money to keep her in this place for a year. Or an engagement ring. When I return home it will pay for the latter. If I don't, the former.

We walk down the rusted metal stairs of the building, before entering onto the street in front. There we walk in silence. Our hands binding us together until we reach the town square. Our large marble justice building towers upward, as if reaching for the sky and brightly coloured shop fronts surround us, as if we were cattle being herded into a small, colourful pen.

With a final squeeze of her hand and a kiss goodbye, I get my finger pricked for blood before walking right up the front of the square to the 18 year old boys section. I scan the crowd of girls trying to spot her face before a figure moves beside me, blocking my view.

"Hey man!" Prince yells at me, his deep voice booming and causing those around us to turn questioningly in our direction, Prince has never really learned what volume is. He has an extremely tall frame, dwarfing me in comparison but a lanky build that lacks the muscle of mine. I smile at my best friend, exposing a row of perfect teeth as white as pearls.

"Today is your day" he hollers, slapping me on the back with a surprising amount of force. I laugh him off, staring at the Districts large collection of victors on display. They sit at the back of the stage, some look proud to be there and smile and wave to the crowd. Others, like our newest victor Bastion, stare at the stage in front of them. He has large bags under his eyes and I wonder when the last time he got a good night's sleep was.

"Welcome, welcome!" Our escorts voice squeaks into the microphone, causing several kids around me to cover their ears with their hands in the high pitched noise it makes. The atmosphere in District is cheerful. There are always volunteers.

Our escort wears an obnoxious dress, fluro pink it frills out at the bottom, taking up a large size it goes down to her ankles and fans out around her like an inverted mushroom. She has light blue designs tattooed into her skin, with ears that are more metal then flesh. Eyelashes as long as her nose protrude from her face, and silver glitter can be seen hidden behind her eyelids when she blinks.

She milks her five seconds of fame and goes on about how excited she is for this years games after the victory of Bastion last year, she predicts another victor for our District before she projects a video from the Capitol. I expect it to be the same one showed every year so am intrigued to see our Presidents image projected onto the wall.

She's a beautiful woman, the second most beautiful woman I have seen in my life. But then again, I am biased. We are told she is the youngest ruler that Panem has ever seen, I hold a grudging respect for her. She holds this pageant which allows us to climb to fame, and I am told she has upped our rations, enabling those in outer Districts to survive easier.

I watch with interest as she thanks our District for the jewelry and other supplies we manufacture for them and her voice sounds sinceer when she ends on her trademark line. "Thank you for your sacrifice" she says to the camera, her eyes looking soft despite the harsh light reflected onto them before the video ends, cutting her face off from the crowd.

I hear mumbles around us and Prince whispers "well that was different" into my ear, choosing the perfect time for a soft voice. Better late than never. I watch as our escort goes over to the girls bowl first, it's a miracle she can stand with heels the height of rulers. Digging her hand thoroughly into the bowl she carefully pulls out a slip before she calls out the name.

"Tiffany Silverstein" her name cuts through the silence like a knife into my heart and I clench my fists into tight balls, letting the nails cut into my palms. No, she can't be reaped. Not the perfect woman who I promised everything would be okay to. I watch her frightened face as she walks to the stage, her eyes meet mine in silent fear and my heart accelerates, surely Weiss will volunteer.

"Are there any volunteers?" Our escorts voice rings out, after a few petrifying heartbeats Weiss's voice rings out strong and steady. "I volunteer as tribute." I slump in relief, it has gone as planned. I watch Tiffany walk off the stage, the rapid way her chest rises and falls makes my headache at the panic she experienced. She will live, this was her last reaping. No matter what happens to me she has the flat and money to continue on, my uncle has promised that he will offer her my job if something were to happen to me.

When our escort calls out the boys name "Hale Cunningway" I waste no time in letting my voice boom out over the cowd, puffing my chest out I bark "I volunteer." Pushing my way through the boys around me and nodding at the kid who was chosen, a 12 year old, he nods, thanking me for saving his life.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present you this year's tributes. Weiss Forge and Ace Platinum." The applause of the District lights me into a grin as I face the District that I will return to. "May the odds be ever in your favour!" her voice rings out through the microphone, it bounces her reflection, making it look distorted and devilish from my position here on the stage.

My eyes meet Tiffany's in the crowd, there can only be one victor, and I vow I will return to her.

 _ **Authors note: Well well well, we have finally got to our first reaping! I hope you all enjoyed, let me know in the reviews what you think of these two, and how far you think they can go inside of the games. I had a lot of fun developing their backstory and writing about them!**_

 _ **For those who submitted tributes, I will do my best to make them worthy of the time you put into submitting them. But apologise in advance if I disappoint.**_

 _ **Until next time… May the odds be ever in your favour.**_


	6. The Things We Do (D2 - REAPING)

**Nathaniel Mattingly 18, District 2.**

The switchblade I hold shimmers in the early morning light as I flip it out of my pocket, inspecting it carefully I scrape a fleck of dried blood off it with a finger nail caked in dirt. A wicked smile lights my face as I sit in the forests that surround our District. I like to run up here. There are less witnesses.

My chest heaves and falls rhythmically from the exertion of the run, it takes me forty minutes to get out here, I had to leave in the dark. My ankle throbs painfully, matching that in my lungs. I tripped over a patch of bramble bushes on my way, staring down at it I can make out the shallow cuts that cross abstractly around my ankle.

They match the ones criss crossing along the palms of my hands, I took my anger out on the bush, ripping it out of the ground and stomping the life out of the plant. I survey my hands in the light, a large thorn is imbedded into the center of my left palm.

Using my teeth I rip at the thorn, taking it out of my hand with skin in the surrounding area. I grin gleefully as I squeeze my hand, watching the blood run through it and hitting the ground around me, I've always been fascinated with the way that blood moves when outside of the body.

I need to be getting back soon, but I came all this way for a reason, I decide to wait a couple more minutes, impatiently tapping the ground as I wait, listening to the sounds of the forest around me and trying to stay as still as possible, my foot stops at a standstill. Then it happens. I hear the cracking of branches behind me and turn my head as a beast appears out of the forest surrounding us.

He looks young, muscles ripple under his light grey pelt and a pristine white patch sits under his chin. Large antlers sits on top of his head, like a crown they reach up to the sky, as if signifing him as the king of his herd. His black button nose sniffs the air, it drips with moisture.

My muscles clench in anticipation and slowly, so I don't disturb the beast I poise my switchblade, gripping it like it is the only thing tethering me to earth, I watch as the beast slowly comes toward my spot, assuming my large figure is not a threat. I want to laugh, this is the last mistake that the beast will make. His fatal error. Other tributes will do this in the arena too, my face contorts to a wide grimace as I picture the other tributes. So many weak ones will make easy picking.

I wait, scarcely breathing as the beast comes into an arms reach of me. I feel its hot, wet breath on my left side and I let out a deep breath of my own, my body shaking with the adrenaline rush. I replay my mentors lessons to me, honing in on one specifically. _Slice don't stab. Slice don't stab. Slice don't stab._ The words bounce around my brain until they cloud all other thoughts, like a song stuck on repeat they are all I hear.

Turning boldly on my feet, I leap out, slicing my switchblade down the neck of the animal, I watch blood flow like a morbid waterfall, coating me and the ground in a warm, sticky layer of liquid. I can't wipe the smile off my face.

I stare it in the eyes, watching it thrash about as it struggles to breath, choking on its own blood it gurgles out, as if trying to warn the others he swore to protect. I watch with great interest and bloodlust as the beast dies in front of me. I am the ultimate predator. In a moment of morbid curiosity I reach out, collecting its still warm blood on my index finger.

I stare at the way it simmers in the light, the way its red sheen changes to deep oranges and purples in my fingers. I take the finger to my mouth, placing its blood on my tongue I taste what it is like to kill another, it tastes metallic, like a rusted nail, it also tastes like pure power, like the ultimate challenge that has been conquered.

After a moment longer of staring at the corpse, that now lies in a lake of its own blood, no longer the majestic being it was in life. The beast is nothing in death. All of its life and majesty gone it just looks like a sack of meat. Some other careers like to make their first kills in the arena, I've been out here hunting since the age of five.

Setting off at a sharp run, I make my way back to the urban area of District two, letting my thoughts flow like tidal waves and distracting my mind from the fatigue in my body. I imagine humans are almost easier to kill than animals, they are more trustworthy and prone to letting their guard down. You can never truly make a wild animal comfortable with humans, but others of the same species can be tricked and taken out with no more effort than the buck.

By the time I arrive back at my home, a large building near the center of town I have soaked my shirt through with blood and sweat and my usually curly hair on the top of my head is straight with moisture, parting out the sides I growl at the way it looks, wishing I could rip it out then and there.

I push open the door with enough force to make the old hinges scream. I can hear my family in the kitchen, joking and laughing around the old wooden table. They are some of the dullest people I have ever met. I blow past them. Not bothering to call out a greeting I march up the creaky wooden stairs with the broken banister and into the bathroom. Slamming the door behind me I shove my body under the too small shower tap.

I have to practically crouch under the cool stream of water, this shower head was designed for those a maximum of six feet, I'm six feet eight and counting. The water hits my muscular body and leaves trails of goosebumps in its wake. I don't mind. I'm used to the cold showers and now my body craves the feeling of the water on my skin, of the burning sensation it creates. But there is no burning sensation today, my body radiates heat in anticipation of what is about to come, making the water feel practically warm.

I run a dog eared bar of soup around my body, muscular legs support my weight, held up by ridiculously large feet. My legs lead to a toned abdomen where an eight pack is clearly seen no matter how bloated my stomach becomes. Defined pecs slice through my chest, sharp enough to cut glass.

My arms are thicker than younger boys heads, a large tattoo I got a year ago curls up my left arm. A black mamba. The ultimate predator. I got it after it killed the male from our District in last years games. A boy I had trained with, I felt no great loss at his defeat. Its tail starts at the base of my left finger nail, following an abstract design that ends with the snakes head resting on my shoulder. It was not hard to get, a future victor can be _very_ persuasive in a place like two.

The head of the snake leads up to my well defined face that challenges the marble statues that litter the District. My face sits on the base of a square chin, my jawline is extremely well defined, the bones threatening to protrude out of my tanned skin, a long nose that sets in the centre of my face and rich indigo eyes catch the attention of those around me. It is not hard to see why the trainers chose me to compete in the games.

I turn the tap of the shower off, kicking the glass door closed behind me in a way which makes the pains shake and wobble, threatening to fall out. A glare from me sets them back in their place. When I am victor I will be able to live in one of the mansions inside of the District, not the lowly residence of two blacksmiths.

I walk to my room with an off white towel wrapped around my lower waist, entering my room I throw on the clothes I set out before leaving this morning. Not a lot of my old clothes fit anymore, so I had a limited collection to choose through.

I decided on figure hugging black trousers, which I push my dirty switchblade into, dark boots and a white tank top that exposes off my muscles to the crowd. I slip a black army jacket overtop, it pinches my shoulders, I roll them out, smirking at the ripping sound this creates. Inspecting the jacket it only looks like internal seams have been broken so I slip it back on anyway, bounding out of my room I take the steps three at a time.

I almost bowl into my sister. Samantha is a petite woman who moved out a couple years ago to the house next door with one of my brothers, she still cleans this one though and I see her too often for my liking. "Watch where you're going" I bellow at her, my voice ricocheting off the thin walls like bullets fired from a submachine gun. She just mutters a meek apology as I leap off the staircase, causing the old wooden floor to warp underneath my weight.

I strut out of the door, not looking back as I walk onto the busy street, it's flooded with other children and parents making their way to the reaping. I walk with arrogance only a volunteer can get away with, those coming in the opposite direction disperse around me like schools of fish avoiding a shark and I feel the familiar rush of power this enlists through my veins.

"Look there's the volunteer!" A younger boy points at me, he's another trainee in his first year. I glare at him, watching as he visibly wilts under my gaze. His arm drops from the air and hangs limply at his side, like a balloon deflated of air. His friends laugh uneasily as I continue walking, this is not their day. It is mine.

That is until I come across a spot of the street between two buildings, its my shortcut to the square but suddenly packed with people on reaping day. I tap my foot impatiently, feeling myself getting angrier and angrier. What makes these people feel like they can use my route on today of all days? Today is mine, not theirs.

When I feel someone bump against my back, their elbow digging into my spine sharpley, I snap. Turning around in fury to see a twelve year old behind me. Taking a moment to assess the situation I see he is walking alone. Grabbing the back of his dark shirt I drag him into a alley between two blacksmiths shops.

The kid screams and kicks, apologising over and over. But I don't hear him in the red haze that has twisted my brain into that created by the devil. Suddenly this child is the reason of all of my anger and he needs to be punished for it. I drag him to the back of the ally, his cries bounce uselessly off cobbled walls, thick with moss they swallow his screams.

I throw my fist back, pounding it into his stomach I feel it sink into muscle beneath the surface of skin as the kid lets out a groan of pain. His pale face is slick with snot and tears, smashing my fist into his nose I feel warm blood splatter onto my jacket and arm, it makes me feel powerful, it makes me feel like a god.

I pull out the switch blade that was jammed into my tight pants, when the kid sees this coated with dried blood his screams take on a frantic nature. I can see the whites of his eyes. I can do whatever I want to him, I will be in the arena and above punishment soon, when I return I will be victor and one of the most powerful people in the District. I will be untouchable.

"You're going to remember me" I tell him in a voice barely recognisable of my own, it sounds distorted and gruff, almost animal like. This is my inner beast. I bring my blade to his flesh and feast on his screams as I carve my name into the boys pale body, from one side to the other, the result is a bloody mess but I can clearly see my name, NATE stamped into the boys flesh. It will be there for the rest of his life. It runs from his lower waste and reaches to the bottom of his ribcage, completely covering his abdomen.

I am about to add my finishing touches when an arm comes out, blocking the blades contact with the boys skin. "Nate, stop." It takes me a moment to recognize my best friends voice. When I do I look over at him, my training partner.

Milo moves slowly toward me, as if approaching a dangerous animal. Maybe I am and grips a hand with mine, holding the switchblade I still have pointed threateningly at the boy. He looks weak, like he could faint at any moment but takes his chances, scampering off like a rat as Milo takes the threat of the switchblade away.

I go to yell at him, furious that he let the boy go before I finished with him, I pant loudly, like a bull lined up for the matadors. I don't know what my face portrays, because a look of sorrow crosses over Milos.

"Come back to me" he whispers, grabbing one of my hands with both of his. I stare into the rich brown of his eyes, I see the green specks that can be found in their depths that no one else seems to notice. Slowly, slowly, my breathing returns to normal and my body starts to relax. Milos visibly does too and he wraps me in an embrace.

"Come on" he tells me after awhile of the warm embrace. Pulling our bodies apart. "You got a games to win." I nod dumbly at the thought, my body seems to move slower than my mind commands as if underwater. My body feels strangely cool without Milos embrace, like I am missing a part of it I just collected.

I follow him dumbly out of the alley. The tsunami of thoughts roll in my head threatening to drown me.

 **Cassia Slander, 16, District 2.**

I have a hiding spot. Its hidden in a small cupboard in my room, it holds a Coraline door. It appears too small for an adults body, but my slim and well muscled frame with a bit of flexibility makes it a perfect fit. If I have my knees buried into my chest. I prefer that position anyway, it makes me feel safe. Safe has almost become a forgotten word at this point.

I keep a large blanket in here, its old and faded, worn at the edges. The colours used to be bright, splashing out of their boxes and looking like they could escape. Now they look washed out and muted, like they have folded into themselves and no longer want to be the bright person they once were. They don't want the attention that the bright colours bring. Neither do I. This blanket was given to me by Orion for my birthday. It used to quadruple the height of my body, seeming taller than the world, perfect for forts and snuggling in together in front of the fire.

It now wraps around my slender frame, I hunch into it so it goes from my shoulders to feet, the extra blanket condenses on the cold flood, the largest lump rising to my knees. It weigh me down and gives me an anchor point, something to latch onto and keep me stable. They all assume I lost the blanket, that it got faded the way memories do and ceased to exist. But I kept it, sniffing it now I try to picture the innocent child I once was, the innocent child Orion once was as well.

Before he volunteered and was crowned victor. Back before my beauty caused people to stop in the street staring, back before when the wolf whistles followed in my trial and the whoops of victory followed his.

When I close my eyes I can picture his victory as clear as the colour of the sky, three years ago today he volunteered. District Two's current youngest victor. It came down to the career alliance and he killed them mercilessly, turning friend on friend he taunted them before attacking with godly strength. A long spear was his weapon. A blade as sharp as a diamond, he killed four of them in one go. They were no match for his deadly dance. But that wasn't the worst part, he didn't kill them straight away, hacking off pieces so they could not defend themselves he slowly sliced into them, turning them from people into slabs of meat.

The girl from One was lucky, she went quickly, the boy from One and girl from Two took hours, screaming out as body parts were removed. No one challenged him in the way he had killed his District partner. Orion butchered her. He was their victor, the girl that went in with him did not matter any longer. The tributes screamed to each other and to Orion begging for it to stop. But it never did.

But the boy from Four, he suffered the longest. Orion got hot coals from the fire they had burning, he placed them all over the boys body as he had tied him down. First on his eyes, they burned them out, leaving blackened holes in his face. Then the rest, until blisters covered every each of his body, in agony the boy cried for water. So, with his feet and hands still bound he was thrown face down into a murky lake. The water muffled his screams.

The cruelty Orion emitted is what keeps me up at night, crying into my pillow and wondering where my best friend went. He's become known as a sadistic victor, he spent 14 hours hacking pieces off the 14 year old from District 12 before her heart gave out. The look on his face was pure disappointment when the cannon went off, he would of kept going for days.

I'm terrified. Terrified that if the arena could turn my best friend, who would spend hours wrapping birthday presents for me, who constantly ran from his house across the District to mine when his intuition could tell I was upset, the boy who had gentle hands that would teach me how to make the most intricate notes, placing his hands on mine and guiding me when my own could not find the way. What could the arena do to me?

Silky tears fall off my cheeks, hitting the delicate red dress I put on for the reaping. I pull the blanket tightly around me, not caring that I am ruining makeup I spent over an hour meticulously applying. That was before I overheard my brother talking to a man downstairs, it's lucky you can't keep a secret in this house. Not with its walls that echo your deepest desires.

I hear loud thumps on the stars. Mens boots. They trail closer and closer, causing my heart rate to rise in anxiety and my palms to break out in a clammy sweat. The door to my room creaks open and I scarcely breathe, he can't find me. Not today. I have been saving my act of rebellion over years, since my brother figured out how to _use_ me to get what he wanted. Today I refuse.

"Cassia where are you?" His nazily voice sounds too loud, too close, and I have to clasp both hands around my mouth to stop from screaming out. I won't let him _use_ me. Not today. If I die in the arena I want to know I at least tried to stand up for myself, even in such a small way. Avoidance is one of the easiest ways to get yourself out a negative situation, my parents trained that into me and I have taken it to heart. I dreamed of the opportunity where I will be able to use it. My opportunity is now.

"Cassia?" His voice raises an octave in anger and I hear him lash out, kicking at something in my room. I hear the shattering of glass and whimper, he must of kicked my dresser. The elegant, perfectly carved mirror that my parents gave me for my birthday when I was younger must of smashed into thousands of tiny pieces on the floor.

He utters a grunt of anger, slamming his fist into the wall where I am hidden. My blood runs cold at the thought of him finding me, but after a moment I hear the sound of his boots turning on the floor, they grow fainter and fainter as he climbs back down the stairs. I try not to hear what he says next, pushing my palms to my ears I try to block it out, rocking my body back and forth. But I hear it still.

I remember when I was younger, I used to fight against him, pleading for him not to make me go with the men when he realised he could gain favours from by _using_ me as his pawn. I pleaded and begged, until he had had enough of my denial. I wrap my arms around my chest, trying to comfort myself. I delicately slide my fingers down the back of my dress, my fingers trace the lumpy scars that criss cross running from my lower neck to tailbone.

My brother inflicted these on me, when I didn't do what he wanted. He tricked me, saying he was taking me to a surprise, a blindfold went over my face. In my innocence he could do no wrong, he was family. Then he bound my hands, taking me into the small abandoned basement of our home, I can't go down there anymore. It was once a gym, but when the training centre moved next door, which my parents are the head trainers of, it was no longer needed.

In that small dusty room with spiderwebs clinging to the corners he brought his rage out on me. I can still picture the moment, as if I was there. Everything was dark, my heart bounded in my chest taking leaps and bounds. I heard my brother pacing, something dark radiated off of him that I did not pick up on at the time.

I was too innocent to realise his intentions, I thought my saying no would end the conversation, I didn't realise that the glint in his eyes when he asked meant there only was one answer, saying no was not an option.

He used the strength he had developed starting to train for the games, he would never volunteer, never had the drive to please our parents or District, but was still stronger than the majority of men around him. I heard a metallic clank as the buckle of his belt hit the floor. In my mind I can hear the soft sound of him wrapping the leather of the belt against his fist.

And then I can hear the whoosh that the belt made as it sliced across the air, hitting my back and causing me to cry out in pain. It ripped at my shirt, causing the soft fabric to tear. Again and again he sent the belt through the air, it fiested on my cries of pain, growing stronger and stronger as it tore at my skin. My back was unrecognizable by the time it was done, and my spirit was broken.

"She's not here" my brother says to the man, releasing me from the prison of my memories. His voice sounds stressed, I can picture him running a hand through his almost white hair. It's been a habit of his when he was stressed for as long as I can remember. "You promised she would be." The man's deep voice is soft, but he may as well be yelling. My heat stops for a couple of beats. Its Artimus, our Districts elderly mayor.

"I wanted until the last possible opportunity so I wouldn't tarnish _my_ reputation if it got out." The mayor continues, I listen with growing dread in my stomach, simultaneously glad I hid but regretful at the trouble I have caused for my brother. "I had to watch that _bitch_ walk past me everyday knowing that I would get my chance. And now you're telling me she's not even here!"

He breaks into a coughing fit as my breaths shallow, I feel the familiar panic enclose around my heart, suddenly the blanket is not longer warm and safe but constricting and boiling hot. I throw it off, thrashing about in the tiny space. It reminds me too much of how that blindfold felt. Of my brother towering over me when it was done. "You just lost your chance with the Peacekeepers." The mayor says to my brother, before I hear the door forced open loudly then slam shut.

I hear my brother yell in anger, his boots are fast on the stairs again and the door to my room is thrown open. This is shortly followed by the sounds of all my earthly possessions being broken and smashed to pieces. I cry silently as I hear my brother, a tornado of destruction tear through my room. It's a good thing I got my dress on earlier, or it would surely be destroyed too.

I sense the time till the reaping tick down and know I need to be getting out of my home. I start to get frantic, I will need to make a run for it soon. I am well trained, I could take out my brother if I wished. But I don't think I have the strength to do that to a family member, not after seeing the violence that Orion committed. Not after I swore I would never turn into him.

Thankfully, my brother leaves, locking himself in the ensuite bathroom I hear more smashed glass. I move silently, elegantly squeezing my body out of the small closet door I tiptoe over wooden floorboards. I pickup a tiny ballerina, she lives in a jewelry box that my parents gave me when I was just born. I hold her in my hand as I silently exit the house, refusing to look back I only look forward toward the square.

I get half way there before realizing I left my shoes in the house. I walk barefoot, my lightly tanned skin contrasting the dreary colours of the pavement. I arrive at the square just as our escort, a youthful man with skin pulled too tight and dyed the colour of bellflowers, enters the stage. Calling the District to attention and locking eyes with some pretty 18 year old.

A Peacekeeper piricks my hand, dropping my blood onto the parchment she gives me a dirty look and tells me to arrive earlier next time. There won't be a next time. This will be my last reaping, no matter what.

I make my way to the 16 year old girls section, more heads turn toward me than the escort, beauty is nothing rare in two, with our cosy lifestyles at the Capitols lapdogs. But beauty of my standard is a rarity. I don't have to be vain to see that I am beautiful, with my long hazel hair that falls in loose waves to my shoulders. My light lips are full, and a small sharp nose is perched above them, it fits my face perfectly.

Rich eyebrows set large eyes, they are turquoise blue, like a body of water in the sunlight, a piercing deep blue rim encircles them. Making them look captivating and unique, I have never seen anyone with eyes like mine before, I don't know if that makes me special or doomed. Maybe a piece of both.

A red dress hangs shoulderless, ruffled from sitting in a small spot for hours it fans out around my body, hugging my slim, athletic waist and showing off my curves. My arms are toned and bring a hint of danger to my look. A danger most overlook due to the way I walk, my hips sway and I beam a smile to those around me, showing off two perfect rows of crisp white teeth.

I stand near the edge of the girls line, the grin remaining as I look up to our escort, he is staring at me as well. He stutters, trying to regain his train of thought, a blush creeps over his face, causing his unnatural skin to turn a bizarre shade of magenta.

He stammers out something about a video from the Capitol and the Presidents face is blasted on screen. Her voice is solemn, thanking our District for the masonry and acnologing the Peacekeepers we provide. I am shocked at this, it is an open secret. Something we know but never discuss. Murmurs break out in the crowd so I barely hear her say the line that has become famous for her "thank you for your sacrifice" she says softly, her eyes seem to show the grief that our Districts face, before the video stops, fading to black.

"As always ladies first." Our escorts voice rings out in his strange Capitol accent, he goes to the bowl, picking out the first name that graces his fingertips. He struts up to the large chrome microphone, looking proudly at the name before reading it out to the crowd.

"Cassia Slander." My name bounces off the citizens in the crowd as I walk delicately up to the stage, I spot my reflection in the lens of the camera. My crying has made my makeup smudge, it looks like warpaint. Making me look mysterious and enhancing my beauty. I do not smile. The District goes silent when he calls for volunteers, this is my chance of fame. If I were to return home now my brother would have unimaginable consequences for me. But my heart still cries out for someone else to take my place. I spot my parents in the crowd, they beam at me, I am accomplishing the goals they never could. They were second best. I am first.

So, our escort moves onto the boys, this time digging right through the slips until he reaches the bottom. "Mavri-" I starts, before a booming voice cuts him short. "I volunteer!" Its Nathaniel. Spotting him in the crowd I am shocked by his appearance.

He wears a white singlet, it's coated in blood, so are his dark pants. His arms and face are splattered with the stuff, it still shimmers freshly in the sunlight. I have to bite my lip not to show my shocked emotions to the crowd. Feeling my own blood flow from my lip onto my tongue. He struts to the stage, a menacing smile on his face as he cracks his knuckles, playing up the crowd. I can practically hear the screaming from the Capitol.

"I present to you Cassia Slander and Nathaniel Mattingly." Our escorts voice shouts out, only enhancing the panic in my thoughts. Nate looks how Orion did in his games, this scares me more than any thoughts of my brother. "May the odds be ever in your favour!" He yells, pushing our arms into the air as our District applauds a deafening roar. One of us will surely be a victor. But I'm no longer sure that it will be me.

 _ **Authors Note: Thank you all for the amazing reviews you left on the last chapter I honestly appreciate it more than you can imagine.**_

 _ **I hope you enjoyed these two tributes they were super fun to write about and I enjoyed the contrast of the two careers.**_

 _ **Thank you all for reading, and left me know what you think about these two.**_

 _ **As always, may the odds be ever in your favour…**_


	7. Sorrow (D3 - REAPING)

**Callum Lennon, 18, District 3.**

 _Dear Diary,_

 _Today I turn 18. I move out of my foster home and get assigned one from the district. It will be nothing like my foster home, with its old wooden paneling and warm water. It won't be like the large childhood home I grew up with, with its sky scraping staircases and pristine windows. It won't even be in this part of the district. It will be in the poorer area, my foster parents told me I could take my blankets with me so that will be the only soft object to lay with my body. They will wait until after the reaping to assign me a new home, the peacekeepers will. Why bother filling out all that paperwork if I am only going to get reaped without stepping foot in it?_

 _I don't mind this change of homes. The new one may help me feel closer to my peers, it will be in the southern part of the district. The change will also make me closer to the Lancaster's. I will be able to see them more, and help look after the younger kids. It's what I owe them for practically making me another one of their children over the years._

 _I know there are a few places in the district I need to visit before I go and I can already see the sun rising over the district. Lighting up the dull grey of the buildings surrounding us, I think the buildings are a lot like the people here, boring._

 _This could be the final time I write in you diary, after all I have told you it seems almost impossible that it could never happen again. But I'm a realist, I always have been. The possibility has always been there. It would be stupid not to see that._

I close the dog eared pages with large hands, setting the pen I was using on top of my fissured wooden desk I stretch my arms out in front of me, watching the light hit them and show off my protruding dark veins. I squeeze my eyes closed tightly for a moment, mentally preparing myself for the steps I am going to take today, the ghosts that are going to be awakened.

I tiptoe out of my foster parents home, already dressed in my reaping outfit I feel oddly over dressed compared to the shadows surrounding my body. My feet pound on the pavement, making an echoing pace that matches my heartbeat. Its an equally short and extremely long walk to get to the house that plagues my mind. I hate to be here, a cold sweat breaks out on my palms just looking at it.

But on a day like my birthday, and my final reaping, it only seems right to face these demons. It seems right to visit the ghosts that haunt me. The house hasn't become occupied, instead it stands crumbling into the ruins of what an elegant place it once was. Its windows are no longer glossy, but instead lay coated in grime and cracks run through them from younger boys trying to find entertainment in a place like this.

I take steps on uneven ground, approaching the house in the way you would approach an old friend that you last saw entering the world beyond this one. A jingle on a rusted door knob tells me that it is locked. For a moment my heart clenches, party in fear and partly in hope that someone else could of come into this place and transform it from something that echoes the memories of childhood.

But I know that no one is here. I walk past it every day. No fire burns on the hob, no children scream and laugh chasing each other up and down the sky scraping staircases. No one can be heard inside such a large and generous building. I hear rumors that some say it is haunted. I don't believe them. Her spirit would not linger in this world for longer than necessary. It would pass onto the next, and hopefully find its own peace. Not that she deserves it.

I tug on a wispy cord around my neck, pulling it to the front of my shirt. It tangles with another necklace I wear. I refuse to look at it yet, instead letting my agile fingers first untangle the cords and then pull the wispy one over my head. On the end of it is a rusted key I am not convinced will still work.

But when I slide it gracelessly into the doorknob it turns, the door opens, crying out in protest. It's hinges need some oil, not that anyone cares enough about this abandoned house to do it. Walking into the door the scent of decay hits my nose, of peeling paint and mould as well as whatever animals have wriggled their way into this home and made it their own. I would like to say the thought of them being here makes me feel better. But that would only be a lie. It makes me feel worse.

I was the one that found her. I came back to apologise, after a week of couch surfing I wanted to fall to my knees, grab her ankles and make her understand that it was not something I could control. That I would be better than the man that had broken her heart with false promises and hidden truths.

I didn't get the chance. I walked into the house, the floors freshly polished and gleaming, the walls eggshell blue with dark trimmings and the sun making them practically glow. I walked up to her bedroom, right at the top of the house it has its own floor. This house was always too large for just two.

I walked into an image that plagues me to this day, at first it looked like she was just sleeping, her head tipped back and covers tucked right up to her chin. I watched her, gathering my strength to gain her forgiveness. But then I noticed her chest was not rising and falling like my own, and a trail of sickness was hardened to the corner of her chin on the left side.

My heart sank that moment. I knew without anyone having to tell me, my mother, the woman who had raised and protected me. She was dead. She choked on her own vomit after drugging herself to the point where nothing mattered anymore. Not the son she despised after one confession, or the man that left her to be with someone else.

I stand in the bedroom now, the mattress has been taken so I stare at a rusting metal bed frame. Dark patches on the floor indicate leakes in the roof and the peeling wallpaper that used to show vibrant flowers now looks dull and forgotten, like its spirit has been crushed too with the weight of what happened inside of this house.

I close my eyes, trying not to picture her body but simultaneously clinging to it, clinging to the last image I have of my mother who had me at 17 and raised me by herself. The same mother who cried herself to sleep for weeks after her man left her and after her parents deaths. The mother who kicked me out so ruthlessly. I can't condemn her for that, no matter how much I try. But I can't condone her either, no matter how much I attempt. Stuck in limbo I never truly know how to feel about the actions that she took, and about the consequences that ripple out into my life now. But I can't change it, she made her choice. But only I am the one that has to live with it.

I joult to reality as I hear a loud thump in one of the walls of the building, it reminds me that this is no longer my home and I suddenly feel foolish for coming here. I should of known no matter how much I wanted to I would not find peace here, peace can only be found when a decision is made, weather to condemn or condone, I don't think I will ever be able to do either.

I have another place to go, another place that will rip my heart into even smaller pieces and then trample them into the ground beneath me. But maybe today can be a day of acceptance, maybe today can start a new life. It is my birthday after all. Tonight I will go to my new home and no longer have the threat of the reaping looming over me, maybe I can get the threat of my past to stop hunching over me too.

I make my way at a brisk pace toward the centre of the district, branching off just before the pathway to get me to the square. Still, no other souls are about. Maybe I woke too early, maybe I felt the need to make sure that I would be alone. I turn a corner and then another, weaving my way through a spiders web into the heart of the district, then back out again.

I follow a pathway of veins long forgotten until I come across the part of the town that most run from as quickly as possible. I round one corner specifically. Looking into a cobbled alleyway, brown moss dies on the walls and the stones look chipped and cracked in the ascending light. It's no place to die in here. Not when it smells of animal decicretment and broken glass litters the ground, not when used needles can be seen in the gutters and burned out spoons lay morphed and abandoned.

Most people think three is a perfect place, we are the brain that drives Panem. But it comes at a cost, the more intelligent a person is the more prone to depression they are. That can be clearly seen in a place like this. A place where all the pressure of the Capitol is placed on top of our shoulders and the other districts breathe down our necks. Just waiting for us to screw up and not be able to solve a problem. We have succeeded for this long, but not without a price.

I feel something warm trail down my cheek, closely followed by another trail until hot teers cascade down my face. I fall to my knees on the grimey floor, placing my hands on my head I picture the last moments he had here, the man I loved turned to nothing, with the help of some pills and some needles.

Taking a deep breath I let my memories flood over me once again, we spent the day together, me and Wren. It was probably the greatest day of my life. We walked down to a small river that runs on the very edge of our district, there is a small patch of trees surrounding it and we spent the day under them, talking and basking in the sun. Our friends had visited us, the Lancaster's and Teresa, most of the district thought me and Teresa were the ones dating. Only those who would be trusted got to know the truth, a number that could be counted on fingers of a single hand.

After, we decided to go back to his to spend the night. A perfect end to a perfect day. But then his sister walked in. I had climbed onto his bed and we were sharing an intimate moment, our lips connected in an intimate embrace.

His sister bursted in, with a toy in one hand she wanted to show off her new doll. I looked over at her with wide eyes before she ran yelling out of the room. Exposing our secret to the world. The secret we had tried so hard to protect for each other and those around us. I still blame myself, I wasn't careful enough. I let it happen. I will never forgive myself for that.

His father came in, we had moved apart, he dragged me out of the house. When I tried to call back to Wren a fist came at me and gave me an eye that was blackened for weeks afterwards. I went home to my foster parents, dejected and with tears streaming down my cheeks and making the path blur in front of me like a swirling pattern of watercolours.

He snuck out, came to me that night with dreams about running away from the district, we didn't know where we would go. Just that there was a fast running river under a part of our electrified fence, he thought we could survive the white water, just keep our heads above until we got onto the other side. My heart clenched as he told me this, I could not leave the Lancaster's, not after they took me as one of their own after my mothers death.

He was crushed by this, taking me in his arms he whispered goodbye in my ear before I could comprehend what he was saying and then disappeared into the night. I tried to follow him, chasing a disappearing shadow until I had to return home. I lost his trail and the last trace of him I had.

The next day he was found in this alleyway, reacking of the scent of alcohol, a dirty needle in his arm and lips that had turned blue, a glassy look over stuck oven eyes and a grimace on his face. He didn't leave a note, I guess he assumed that we would all know why he did it. And we did. Even if his family pretended they hadn't.

I hear his sister blames herself. She should. If she hadn't told her parents about us then Wren would still be here. I would still be happy. I stare at the alleyway in front of me, wrapping my arms around myself I trace the goosebumps that litter my skin. I can picture Wren here, his dark hair tousled and his eyes with a wild look as he decided it wasn't worth it anymore.

I can practically see his image and I walk toward where I can picture him, kneeling beside the person my mind imagines I place a hand on the ground beneath where his body was found. Bringing a hand to my neck I feel the necklace he gave me. It gives me strength to this day and reminds me of him. Of my first and only love.

I can't make myself regret the time we had together. No matter how painful his loss was. But I can't forgive him for his selfish act, we could of made it work. I know we could of. Suicide is a fickle thing, it helps you deal with the pain, but brings so much more to those around you. I guess the thing is that you don't have to deal with the consequences.

I lean against the wall behind me, closing my eyes I let myself grieve for those I have lost. I cry ugly tears as the sun rises over my district, I don't open my eyes again until I hear the streets come alive around me. It is time to walk to the square.

 **Talia Lancaster, 15, District 3.**

Most people hate this place, it reminds them of those they have lost. Me, I love it. It reminds me that no one can truly die when their memory is still in the mind of others. I have too many friends here. Their memories confined to dark tombstones saying too few words to express who they were in life. I guess death has always fascinated me in this way, how the most lively person can be turned to a few words carved into a stone rounded at the top.

I sit in front of a grave, on my knees I have my eyes squeezed tight. I tell them in whispered words how my life is going, how I am scared for today and how I am terrified of being chosen for the reaping. I tell them that I hope they are doing okay on the other side, and I hope they have been forgiven for all they did in their life. I think there is nothing to forgive, we all do what we have to try and survive. But I know that they would think otherwise. They never wanted to kill anyone.

I have a portrait of them painted in front of me, on thick paper I had to steal from the store rooms at our school. The boy has amber hair that curls around his eyes, they are charcoal grey and a smile makes his face stand out and dimples are crooked on his cheeks. His eyes sparkle with the carefree attitude he portrayed during his life and fat black glasses are perched on the edge of his nose, he looks over them in the painting, like he did so often in life. The paining radiates the boy that lies in this grave in front of me, dead for just shy of a year.

His name was called at the reaping last year, he walked to the stage with frightened eyes but a determined attitude. I hugged him goodbye and he told me he would get home with a kiss on the cheek. He made it to the halfway point, killing a 12 year old that though he was an easy target before being taken down by a 18 year old career.

They sliced his stomach, spilling his guts to the ground as his eyes went wide, trying to pull them back into his wound. They abandoned him for hours, and I had to watch his drawn out death, just before he died he whispered goodbye to us. The coffin they took his body back in was printed with the Capitol seal and there was makeup on his face. It was not the boy that left, he was something the Capital created.

I paint him like the boy I remember, before he left to fight a battle he could not win. He was smart, but it was not enough. Cute, but not cute enough for the Capitol to fall head over heels for the 14 year old from District 3. We are never favourites to win.

His death really hit how unfair the games were, how unpredictable and cruel life could be. I was given one gift on this earth, my paintings. I decided to use them for a purpose. I've been rewatching old games, painting the tributes from our district with marticulas detail trying to capture their strongest moment in the games. For some this is when they are on the podium, refusing to show their fear. Others its them crying after making a kill. Their strongest moment doesn't have to be one where they portray strength, it needs to be when their emotion is the strongest. When they are them. Not what the Capitol has created.

For this boy it is when he decided to ally with the younger girl from his district, they were killed by the same tribute, binded by his blade in death. I have a painting of her at my home too. I have painted 6 tributes so far, going back to the 186th games. This has made me relive them all too much, but it has made me appreciate them for what they are. A way to oppress the districts and keep the Capitol happy.

Painting pictures of those we have lost is my own little way of keeping them alive, inside of my memories. Because maybe if someone remembers you you can never truly die. 2256 tributes in total have died in the games since they began, that's less than the population of my district. It makes me ashamed that I cannot name every single tribute that has entered our games. Someday I will be able to. Someday I will have painted a picture of every single one of them.

Turning my head I see the grave of this boy's sister. She died shortly after her brother. He was decapitated. She drowned her sorrow in alcohol and went over the edge, his death killed her as well. I know it's not what he would've wanted. I know it through every bone of my body. I should've realized what she was going to do. But I didn't. Her family grieved for both of their children. One was buried in a pretty Capitol coffin, the other in a flimsy box made of splintered wood.

I painted a picture of them together to help their grieving parents, I don't know how well it worked. Or if it eased their pain. But it helped me to say goodbye to the siblings that were two of my best friends. Callum made the process easier, he's not my sibling by blood but he may as well be. After his mother died we partly took him in and he's an older brother now.

I don't know what I would do without him. I just wish I could help him more, he has not had it easy either, not with all of those he has loved passing from this world to the next. Sometimes, I wonder if the next world is better than this one, less pain, less fear, less unknown. But then I would lose all of the people around me. And I don't think I could place the pain I have on those around me.

I'll see them again someday, but not anytime soon, I hope. There is still so much more left to do. I hear the sound of rustling bushes to my left and my head snaps in that direction, my muscles coiling as my flight reflex kicks in. No one else is ever at the graveyard this early. Even Callum rarely comes here to pay his respects. Instead preferring to write his thoughts out in his diary. He says that those we have lost will hear us no matter what proximity we are to their corpse, I believe that, but someone it just feels right to be near them. Makes them seem that much more real as they fade into memories. That's also why I paint them, I don't want to forget what they look like. And I don't want to have to watch the games to remember.

Looking back to the bushes a small smile crosses my face as an old cat appears, Misty. She's been in my life as long as I can remember, her pelt does not gleam like it used to but her bright eyes still sparkle and meow is crystal clear as she comes over to me.

She presses her body to mine, purring as she tries to comfort me. I feel her lick the tears I had not realised had dried on my face in my hunched over position. I run a hand over her coat, she used to be the only one who could get me to talk. I feel completely safe with her for an unknown reason, like she has an aura around her that tells me everything will be okay. And I know it will. She is my guardian angel.

I stretch stiffness out of my limbs as I get up, picking Misty up with me she cuddles into my arms as I start the walk toward the square, the sun hangs high in the district, promising a warm day with a slight breeze making it manageable. She kneads me all the way to the square, the tiny pricks her paws make help ground me to the present.

When I line up to get my finger pricked for blood she leaps gracefully out of my arms, blinking at me with too intelligent eyes she slinks off jumping onto a low fence nearby and gracefully walking over to see what the commotion is about. I worry about her being out in the open in a place like this. But she is the most intelligent animal I have ever met, she knows what danger is and for over 15 years it has kept her alive. I have to believe it will keep doing so.

My blood is taken from me and I step into the square, I quickly scan the crowd and see that Callum is walking in. I rush over to him, he looks upset, but like hes trying to hide it. What a way to spend your birthday. I give him a large hug, his body is warm against my oddly cool one and he whispers goodluck into my ear with his deep voice. I wish him it back, he makes his way up to the 18 year old section as I go to the 15 year olds.

There, I spot the blond hair of my best friend Varina. "Jesus you're cold!" She exclaims, running her petite hands up and down my arms, creating warmth. "I was visiting the graves" I tell her soberly and her face drops in recognition. Roseanne comes up to us then, wrapping us three in a hug she worlessly links hands with both of us and says a prayer to those above us. I follow her every word, I may not be religious but I will accept all the help I can get on a day like today, we all know the horrors that lie for those in District 3 inside of the arena.

We squeeze each others hands as our escort mounts the stage, she's a tall woman, exaggerated eyebrows that must be tattooed on into such an obnoxious pattern. A large mohawk spikes up above her head that does not appear to be a wig and she wears a flowing blue dress that clings to her figure provocatively. She looks bored though, disappointed she does not have a better district to be the escort for, the careers are the districts they all want. A lot more action from those who are not afraid to be in the games. A lot more fame when they win too.

She says with false excitement how honoured she is to represent this district, before playing a video filmed in the Capitol. I see our young presidents face appear on the screen, she starts off shakey thanking our district for the technology we provide for the Capitol and inventions we are constantly imagining that make the lives for all of us better. Before she ends on her line "thank you for your sacrifice." I watch her solomley, I know she has done good things for the districts, with the increased rations and there are whispers she will be the one to incite change. But I don't believe them. She can't change anything without risking her own life. And the most powerful person in Panem has nothing to gain from making those in the districts have any better lives.

"Wasn't that just beautiful?" Our escort says, a forced tear rolling down her cheek and carving its way down powdery makeup. She walks over to the girls bowl and places a gloved hand inside of it, digging deep she pulls out a name before her heels click clank back to the microphone. As she clears her throat my heart starts to race.

"Talia Lancaster" her voice states. I feel disconnected from my own body. This cannot be happening. I stay still as I hear the gasps from the girls surrounding me. I am frozen in time for a moment, before everything happens at once. I spot a peacekeeper moving in my direction and let their hands go, making my way toward the stage by myself and detaching myself from my body.

In my mind I see myself walk to the stage, solid steps and unfocused eyes I look back over my district not meeting anyones gaze. I know what this is. This is a death sentence. Looking over heads I spot Misty perched on the top of a fense, she yowls a heartbroken yowl and I know that she realises what this means. I don't know how but she is good like that, this will be our final goodbye.

"And now onto the boys" our escorts perky voice seems oddly distorted in my current state and I hope that no one I know is chosen. I would never want them to be marching to their death like me. "Flicker Munroe" the name is no ones I recognize so I my body lets out a breath.

Until an all too deep and familiar voice bellows out that he volunteers. I watch him march up to the stage, feeling angry that he has sentenced himself to the same fate as me. The boy who hugged me and whispered good luck. The boy who has faced so much hardship and now will face even more. I know why he's doing it, he feels like he owes my parents. He doesn't.

"What's your name?" The escort asks him with elation on her voice, District 3 has not had a volunteer in longer than I can remember. "Callum Lennon" He says boldly, I refuse to meet his eyes, this is not how he repays my parents, this is how he condemns himself.

"Ladies and gentlemen I give you your tributes from district 3!" Our escort squeeks out, lifting both of our arms into the air. "Talia Lancaster and Callum Lennon!" I finally meet his eyes, a scowl on my face.

"What have you done?" I ask him, my voice barely a whisper. "Protect you" he replies, not quite answering my question. This is my fault. "May the odds be ever in your favour" our escorts voice rings out, foreboding it reminds us there can only be one victor. It is not likely to be either of us.

 **Authors note: Sorry if this chapter is not as polished as other ones, I'm quite sick at the moment and am writing this the night before it is due to be released. But I refuse to miss my schedule with this story as as soon as I do it once I feel like I will continue it.**

 **THANK YOU SO MUCH for all of your support in the story so far, I'm loving hearing which tributes you like and dislike! Please don't feel like you have to write super long reviews every chapter, and constructive criticism is always appreciated so I can improve my work.**

 **Thank you all for reading, let me know what you think of these two!**

 **And as always,**

 **May the odds be ever in your favour….**


	8. Calm As The Ocean (D4 - REAPING)

**Carolyn Aquana, 17, District 4.**

I watch, straight face as a 12 year old is hung in front of me. The sun is just starting to rise around the district, turning the sky into a perfect pallet of pink and purples. The occasional blue streak cuts through it. Matching the colour of the sea.

I feel the sand shifting under my feet, hear the crashing of waves on the shore. But only in one ear. The smell of salt burns my nose. Yet, I stare ahead. Unblinking as his silhouette twists and turns under the protection of an old oak tree, the rope attaching his neck is pulled taunt.

I watch his arms go up, trying to use his little remaining strength to pull his body up and grasp a final breath of air. Then he slumps, and the sound of his gasps drown out that of the ocean. "You have to help him" my sister pleads, she clings to my legs, eyes full of tears they are buried into my body. She does not look at the boy. I think she knows him. I think he is her best friend.

"I can't" I whisper to her, my eyes still locked on the boy. I won't look down at her, I won't see the weakness that she portrays with her tears. She betrays the name I have made for myself in this District, betrays the ruthless reputation I have created for our family based on nothing, based on the lowly reputation of two fishers.

A single Peacekeeper stands by the boy, his gun bulges from his pocket and he looks at us uneasily. He didn't expect anyone to be on the beach, let alone a future tribute, I guess the others didn't tell him. Everyone knows I am volunteering this year. I see it in the way they look at me. Some look like I am dangerous, someone to be avoided, others act like I am suicidal, lined up for the slaughter. The Peacekeeper only expected the boys family to stumble on the body when they realised he never returned home the night before, no witnesses. But I had to be here for this and my sister _had_ to follow me out the door.

I am the one that got the boy executed.

I first saw him steal a fish from the markets six months ago, he stole from an old man who smelled of fish guts and preyed on young girls. I let him steal, choosing not to tell anyone. But I watched the boy from then on, watched as he made his rounds every morning, his tiny hands reaching into pots and trays they were not supposed to, some days it was something as small as a shell he took, other days it was large fish when the mens back were turned.

Those men worked hard for their catch, and the money it brings in. Yet still I let the boy steal, it was not affecting me. I quite like a trouble maker. Till yesterday morning, when I saw him make his rounds to the markets. He dodged around old wooden carts, jumping over buckets full of ice and the wagging tails of dogs. I thought he wasn't going to take anything.

But then he turned toward the oldest looking cart in the market, its wood was so faded and sun bleached it appeared to be pure white. Large trays held fish, trapped in cool ice away from the lick of the sun. They ranged from varying sizes, varying colours, varying shapes. But the boy had his eyes locked on the largest prize.

A small container, full of black pearls. They are a rarity, usually sold to the Capitol as soon as they are fished up. But these ones were deformed, half made or with unusual dents they are commonly made into engagement rings in our District. The boy slided a tiny hand out, almost too quick to notice he grasped one of these pearls and continued on, pretending to be interested in the colourful ribbons dangling from the cart.

I saw my father beam down at the boy, not realising what he had taken from us. That night my father raged at the loss of one of his prized possessions. He made his fists turn from the mix of orange and brown that is associated with all the time we spend in the sun, to those of black and blue as he took out his rage on my punching bag on the front porch. He didn't bother with bandages or gloves, he is a gentleman, but even gentleman face anger.

Last night, when he slept cradling his bruised fist after my mother had kissed each knuckle with butterfly soft lips, trying to take his pain away. I snuck out, I jogged along the beach barefoot, enjoying the feeling of the sand in between my toes and the spray of it that I left in my wake. I made my way to the Peacekeepers barracks, showing no fear as the men towered over me, buzzed from drink and making comments about the girl who would soon be victor.

I told them the tale of the boy, recounting his movements over the past six months. At the end they had no choice but to execute him, the oldest man, who stunk of the rich beer that District 4 provides told me what would happen. With a wink he told me not to be there before slamming the door in my face.

I ran home afterward, carving my way through the soft sand I pushed myself harder than I had in a long time. I enjoyed the feeling of power that ran through my bloodstream, knowing I sentenced someone to death. The power I felt was almost enough to forget my fear of the sea I ran next to out of my mind. Almost.

Now I stand, staring at the boy. He has stopped moving and the Peacekeeper has turned his body away. My sister cries out in pain, throwing her body forward she runs to the boy. I watch, her silhouette lighting up with the sun as she grasps the boys face in her hands, shaking she begs for him to wake up. She claws at the noose, trying to release him from it.

I move forward, pushing my back from the boy, she hits the hand hard. Her body twisting in the impact she yelps in pain as she summersaults backwards. Away from the corpse. "You're going to do well in the arena" a gravelly voice says, but it's in my left ear so it comes out barely audible.

I look over to see the Peacekeeper, he now stands on top of the dunes, his silhouette is powerful in the light. I issue a curt nod in his direction, the shadows morph as he walks off. Exposing the corpse to the light. The boys lips are blue, nail marks are on his throat where he tried to claw the rope off and his head hangs to the ground, sandy hair falling down and covering his eyes.

I catch the reflection of something in his shirt pocket and grasp it with my hand. Pulling it out I see it is the pearl he stole. I smile ruefully as I twirl it in the calloused palm of my hand, if he hadn't become greedy, taking this, then he would still be alive.

I make my way back up the dunes, toward my home which rests on the sands edge, my sister follows, trailing her feet in the sand she creates harsh trails showing the direction we have walked in. I look over at her, scowling at the weakness she shows with tears staining her cheeks and snot dribbling out of her nose. Grief is weakness.

When I arrive back at the house - shack would be a more accurate representation, like our cart it sits sun bleached but well loved - I find my parents awake, they look forebodingly at my scowl and my sisters tears. She runs into my mother's arms as I place the pearl back into my fathers. "Should've waited" I tell him, staring at his bruised fists. He nods in thanks, not quite understanding what has happened.

A victor does not work on impulse, a victor bides her time until she is sure. My father failed that rule last night. I will not fail mine. I turn my back to them, staring at the ocean I see familiar dirty blonde hair bob down toward the beach. I take off, pumping my mucles rymathically as I carve my way back toward the ocean.

I spot his angular body as he walks with his surfboard toward the waves, his curly hair bounces as he walks, teasing his line of vision. He's lankey, already six feet at fourteen he towers over me. But he is no match for my speed. I launch into the air, my arms reaching out I grab his waist, pulling him toward the sand he falls underneath me, his surfboard drops out of his arm in shock.

"Not good enough" I growl at him, annoyed at how easy he was to take down. I wanted a challenge on the morning of my reaping. He breaks into a smile, wiggling his body out of my reach. "Well I could hardly beat you on such a special day" he laughs. I roll my eyes. I have never had time for humor.

He jumps up, offering me an arm I take it, I barely reach his neck. "What brings you here?" He asks me, but a frown crosses his face, he looks at something over my shoulder and I hear the wails of grief. A mother has discovered her son.

A frown to match his crosses my face. "Why are you here?" I ask him, my voice sounding puzzled, it's a thirty minute walk to this part of the beach from his house and with the reaping today it would make sense to stay near home to be able to get ready quickly. He grins sheepishly, running a freckled hand over his tanned neck.

"I wanted to get the chance to say goodbye properly" he says softly, a look of indecision crosses his face before he slides one of his hands into mine. I am too surprised to stop him and butterflies gnaw at my stomach. I'm not the prettiest girl at the training centre by far.

But the smile that lights up his face keeps my tongue silent and I let us stand near the ocean together for awhile. I'm not sure what this is. But it feels right. "I want to try something else" he tells me, the intensity of his voice turning it husky. I blink slowly at him. He steps slightly in the direction of the water and I feel the panic inclose my brain, my palms break out into a cold sweat. "No" my voice comes out shallow, my breaths have quickened.

A flash of blue, a sharp grey edge, a sting that feels like fire is going through my veins, the white walls that smell like disinfectant, the pain of my left ear, then the nothing. The images flood through me, taking over my vision I see that day. I shake despite the heat of the sun.

I look up at the younger boy that towers over me. "I can't" I whisper, my voice shakes but I don't let it break. I am stronger. He squeezes my hand harder. "You have to, when you're in the arena you can't afford any weaknesses." I know he's right. I know what he says makes sense. But it scares me to admit that. I am afraid of nothing. Apart from this.

I look up into his large blue eyes, we could be siblings. Both with fair hair and eyes, though his build is lanky while mine is compact. We are made for eachother, for better or for worse, for training or for friends. Admitting this to myself gives me the strength to put one shaking foot in front of the other, and ever so slowly we make our way out toward the water.

I stop suddenly when the water comes in, its foamy wash lapping at my toes. I squeeze my eyes closed tightly. I count to three. Once it is reached I continue on. The cool water soon laps at my ankles, then my thighs, my waist goes in next. Goosebumps break out over my body as the larger waves come up to my chest.

I stare out at the sea in front of us, taking shallow breaths the smell of salt threatens to drown. Seagulls squawk overhead, as if issuing cries of support. I smile over at the boy next to me, he beams back, turning his boyish face into the handsome one of a young man.

"I knew you could do it" he whispers into my ear, placing his hands on my waist we stare into eachothers eyes as the sun warms our bodies. No, I don't know what we have. But I'm so glad that we have it.

 **Blake Calloun, 17, District 4.**

I sit cross legged, opposite me is a beautiful girl. But all I focus on is the words that come out of her soft lips, closing my eyes I concentrate on exactly what she says, puzzling it over in my brain it rattles loosely around, I run a hand through my bleached blonde hair, it hangs loosely, reaching my shoulders.

Gripping it, I grind my teeth together. "Can you repeat that one?" I ask Meri, my voice letting on the frustration I feel. I don't need my eyes open to see that she rolls her own. "I go in the water black, and come out red, what am I?"

I repeat the phrase to myself, bouncing it in my brain like a loose basketball. I go in black, come out red. Whats red? Flowers, bricks, fis- my eyes fly open. "A lobster!" I yell in triumph. "Lobsters go in the water black and come out red" I think out loud. Memories of lobster dinner surface to the edge of my thoughts, our families sitting around the table together. Laughter echoing and the sound of the sea in the distance.

"You're right" she says, leaning her face to mine she kisses my cheek, I turn my face but she pulls away, a mischievous grin on her face. "You're killing me here" I announce, leaning my back on the sand beneath us.

"I'm killing you?" There is laughter evident in her voice. "How do you think I feel having to come up with them?" I poke my tongue back at her as a reply. "One more?" I plead, making my voice sounding whiny. She looks at me with an annoyed expression, we have been going over riddles on this patch at the beach since dawn.

She signs, before furrowing her eyebrows, plucking her brain for a final riddle to test mine. "The faster you run-" she is cut off by movement behind her. I look over, and see her mother behind us. A grin lights up her dark and leathery skin and her ginger hair falls, just like her daughters to her hips.

She trained for her games, just like the both of us. But she never was chosen. I'm going in this year with a girl who can throw daggers father than I can see and who I've never seen smile in ten years. Meri is lined up for next year. I don't know who she will be with, I guess I will find out when I return. I smile, they won't have a chance against her.

"Hey kids" her mother's voice breaks out. I hate how it makes butterflies do cartwheels in my chest. Why can't I just be happy with Meri? But then I look back at her mother and the way the sun shines on her hair just right and find it that little bit harder to swallow. I stare down at the sand in front of me, focusing on the intricate designs of the shells have that have washed upon the shore.

I wait patiently for the older woman to leave, trying to avoid conversation for as long as possible so nothing gives my true emotions away. I think she knows, I think I see it with her teasing smiles when her daughters not looking. But Meri can't know, if Meri knew it would just complicate things. For now I can love from afar. Maybe for the rest of my life.

When she finally leaves, pinching my cheek and causing my heart to beat faster than life, I take a deep breath, not realising I was keeping it clasped in. Meri laughs at my expression, she just thinks I'm intimidated by the older woman. But when she leans over to kiss me I can't quite get into it. Not when I am picturing myself with someone else.

I hear a loud wolf whistle behind us, breaking the kiss I look over to see my best friend. Wess. He stands shirtless, light glistens off his wet chest and his dark hair falls in small curls, framing his face around the eyes. "Come on" he calls to me, jogging out of my line of sight.

I jump up, splattering Meri with sand. She punches me on the leg hard enough for me to emit a yelp. She gumples that I deserved it as I pull her muscular body off of the grass. I plant a kiss on her cheek before running off in Wess's trail. I wave goodbye over my shoulder as I dodge past sharp rocks in front of my feet. I prefer barefoot these days. The soles of my feet are so used to it, they are as thick as rubber.

I catch up to Wess effortlessly, he spends his time surfing while I spent mine training. He's good, great maybe. But that's all he's great at. He does not have the multitude of skills I exebit. "Is you sister home?" I ask casually as we round a corner approaching his large house on the ocean side, it sits atop a small hill and gives an exceptional view of the waves in bright and sunny days like today.

He smirks at me in answer as he goes inside, you could say me and his sister have some history together. In the way you say that seagulls fly. She's older, and trained for the games. But never quite made the cut. Her dark hair like her brothers makes her a rarity in Four. A rarity I had to try. We dated briefly, one month to be exact.

I took her to bed one night, it was exceptional. But when she did not return her affections the next day I went to another source. I can still picture the angry look on her face when she turned up at mine with a fresh rose in her hand only to find me in bed with another. I don't regret it, she was just as good. But you could say that things are awkward when we are near each other. She's never totally forgiven me.

I hear she's engaged to a boatmaker, some pompous man in town. She knows I now go out with Meri, but has never brought it up. I think she probably thinks I'll ruin that too. I have come close a few times, danced the line on others and fallen over it on a number of occasions. But those girls have always kept their mouths shut, they want the bragging rights they have been with a victor. I will surely be one soon.

They will cheer for me on screen, maybe I'll find a romance there too. I'm sure Meri wouldn't mind, after all it would _just be for sponsors_ and nothing personal. It's not like I can take a girl I meet in the games home with me, but I might try to take one to bed. It's happened before. Maybe I can set a record.

"What _are_ you thinking about?" Wess asks. I catch myself with a goofy smile on my face as I stare off into the distance. My eyes traise the horizon. "Actually I don't want to know" he mutters, starting to walk toward our districts square.

I follow him, enjoying the feeling of the sand on my feet before it turns to a gravel footpath. I sigh, I may not see the sea for awhile or feel the sand between my toes. "Are you excited?" Wess's voice cuts through my reminiscing.

"Hell yeah" I reply, flashing him a wicked grin I stop in place and box the air, twirling with deadly grace I pretend I am taking on the rest of the career pack barehanded. Wess just laughs at me, continuing to walk along.

We walk in silence, I wonder if he is jealous of what I am about to accomplish. He never trained for the games. Maybe that is better. I don't have to worry about being pitted against him as I am with the other boys my age. I always beat them. It's hardly a challenge anymore. I guess that's why they decided to put me in the games a year early. I wouldn't of minded waiting, its a bit more of a hassle really, not finishing school. But I guess victors don't need school, they need the games.

I have a confident smile on my face as my finger gets pricked and my blood is placed on the parchment. Categorizing me and telling the Capital that I am here, not that they won't know after today. After I volunteer and take my place as the victor of the 189th games.

I walk through the crowd confidently, strutting like a peacock, I throw winks to younger girls as I stand at the front of the 17 year olds. They are all cheerful, with this sunny weather they will all be out fishing or training after the reaping. Many surfboards will be in the water tonight, the kids here have a tradition. Those who aren't reaped flock to the water, in small wax sealed envelopes they write the name of the tribute they want to see as victor before sending them off through the current.

The longer you stay in the water after it is done is symbolic of how long the person will live in the games, some kids write the names of those in other districts who they think will be threats and rush out of the water straight away, trying to curse the tributes. Others, like I have done for years, write the name of a tribute from my own district and stay in the water until dawn surfaces again. Me and Wess have a tradition of being the last ones to leave the water the next morning, both trying to outdo each other.

He will do it alone this time and my name will be on his piece of paper, he has promised me this. So has my family and Meri, there will be many cold bodies in the water tonight.

I watch as our escort, a petite woman with a blonde wig slightly off centre and a ridiculous green dress enters the stage. She walks with the grace of a dancer and my eyes stay fixed on her legs that can be seen up to the mid thigh due to her revealing dress.

She introduces our victors, an impressive collection. The Capitol always loves our victors, it seems to run in the family to win the games here. The Odair's are a family that has become common to see on screen. Common to see as victors too. I think it links back to the second failed rebellion but I don't know anymore than that. No one does.

Then she plays a video 'straight from the Capitol.' It shows our President, I think she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Shes young too, not a child but she may as well be with her slim frame and dark eyes. "I'm going to marry her" I whisper to Wess, he snorts besides me. He doesn't realise I am serious. When I am a victor she won't be able to say no, I smirk at the thought of coming home to my district with her draped around my waist.

I miss the point of the video entirely, and now our escort is going toward the girls bowls. She extends her arm into the bowl, barely tall enough she has to grab the first slip she can find. Hobbling back to the microphone she takes a deep breath, before announcing the name to the world.

"Penelope Nicchio" her voice rings out and there is shuffling from the 14 year olds section, she walks to the stage confidently, she knows there will be a volunteer. And volunteer there is. Carolyn's voice rings out around the square, exactly as expected she makes her way up to the stage.

The tiny escort makes her small frame seem taller and she looks comfortable in tight blue jeans and a bright red blouse. But she doesn't shine like other volunteers do, she looks plain compared to the escort, she's pretty all round but not stunning. She's a sharp contrast to the girls I surround myself with regularly, the serious expression on her face does not do her any favours. But she still looks like a District 4 tribute with long blonde hair, tanned skin and fair eyes.

Our escort moves onto the boys section and I feel Wess slap me on the back, this is my moment to shine. Again, she grabs the first slip she comes in contact with. Maybe someone should get her a stool next year. Before reading the name out to the crowd.

"Adrian Odair." There is moment from the 12 year old section and a small boy with curly copper hair and bright green eyes steps forward. He does not look surprised. He was expecting this. I smirk, today won't be his time. My voice rings out "I volunteer!"

He's not surprised by this either and goes back to stand by the other kids his age, I see him clutch hands with a boy that could be his twin. I march up to the stage, smiling to the camera I get the Capitol ladies swooning.

My outfit isn't much, a baby blue shirt that is stretched from wear and if you look close enough traces of my muscles can be seen on my abdomen. I wear basic cargo shorts that are faded from the sun and my bare feet catch the light. No my outfit does not catch attention, that is what my face is for.

Our escort starts talking, dwarfed by my tall statue. "District 4, I present to you your tributes! Carolyn Aquana and Blake Calloun." I get caught up in the endorphins that my districts cheers bring and a wide, beaming smile lights up my face. This is where I am supposed to be. I can do no wrong.

 **Authors note: Well well well finally the last of the careers have been done and we are moving on into our outliers. I looove all of the reviews you guys are giving me, more backstory to the games will be explained as time goes on and something will be a little extra special will be created with our friends in the Capitol.**

 **There may even be some special 'unplanned' updates every now and then checking in on what they are getting up to...**

 **As always let me know what you think about our final careers,**

 **And,**

 **May the odds be ever in your favour...**


	9. Escape (D5 - REAPING)

**Oliver Apollo, 17, District 5.**

I wake up to a stained mattress reminding me of the night before. I roll over automatically, shoving my face under a lumpy pillow I try to avoid the light the open curtains emit into my small room. Its walls are plain, an ugly shade of brown that looks closer to mud than the cocoa that it used to. The carpet has turned from white to grey, I always wear socks when walking on it, god knows all the gunk that has been tramped into it over the years.

Next to me, a pale lamp sits on a create that works as a makeshift bedside table. I let out a groan as I stretch stiff joints, I satisfy myself with the loud popping noise they make. I'm always this way after I've seen a client. Never wanting to get out of the bed the next morning. I bet most people just don't think I'm a morning person, I have a new client almost every night.

Blinking slowly, I place socked feet on the ground, grabbing a towel that's practically in threads. I walk toward the communal showers. Its a large open room, shower heads spew vaguely warm water from the roof, none of us mind sharing our bodies with each other. Not in our line of work.

I strip off, letting the crisp air jump start my body before placing it under one of the shower heads, it dribbles water over my muscular body. "Need a hand?" I don't need to turn around to see who it is, smiling I wait to feel his soft touch on my body.

I feel Dwayne's smooth body beside mine and I sigh into his embrace, I lean into him, enjoying the feeling of our naked bodies together. "Busy night last night?" He teases, biting my shoulder softly. "No more than usual" I tell him modistly, closing my eyes I focus on the feelings around me. The cool mist the showers hits my skin causing goosebumps, but Dwayne's body feels warm pressed up against mine.

"Here" he says. I feel him lathering my back with a bar of soap and smirk, turning my body to his I grab another one, cleaning his muscular chest as he cleans mine. We stay there for a new minutes, our eyes locked together in silent understanding. I know what's coming. "You're not allowed getting reaped today" he finally tells me, his voice serious. My heart lerches a beat at what I am planning so I stay silent, he picks up on this, turning his blonde head to mine.

"I'm serious Ollie, if you get taken from me I don't think I'll be able to survive this place." His voice drops an octave as another man enters the shower. Chris. He's older, maybe late thirties, bristles line his cheeks and he has a body even I am envious of.

"Cut the gay stuff out" he smirks. I laugh at his joke, we all know that the majority of clients that come into this joint are male. "You're just jealous" Dwayne teases, pressing his lips to mine I sigh into his kiss.

"You're not really my type" Chris says, ignoring Dwayne and blowing a kiss in my direction. I laugh at the look of annoyance on Dwayne's face, he's probably the funniest person to wind up. Getting upset over the little things he has a cute frown when he's displeased with something. I let out a cheeky grin at the plan I just concocted. A new way to wind him up.

Squirming out of his arms I swiftly make my way over to Chris, he raises an eyebrow at my approach but I ignore it, gently placing our lips together I hear a shocked gasp from Dwayne. The soap falls out of his hand. Chris is a good kisser, but I don't let it last long, I pull away, throwing him a wink as I walk to the edge of the shower, wrapping my towel back around my waist.

"Not cool" Dwayne yells at me, his face slightly flushed in embarrassment, he runs his hands worriedly through his perfectly blonde hair. I blow him a kiss. "If you want me, ask me out already" I joke. Knowing full well relationships between workers are banned. He rolls his eyes, he knows this too.

"Call me sometime" Chris laughs as he turns his back toward us. Dwayne is practically purple. I roll my eyes at him, making my way back to my room I hop carefully, using the dirty clothes I have scattered on the floor as protection from the carpet. I've always been messy, there just doesn't seem much point in cleaning when it's only going to get dirty again.

I get changed into my reaping outfit, extremely tight pants that leave nothing to the imagination, a white vest that hangs loose, exposing my muscular chest, sturdy black shoes and a choker necklace that Dwayne gave me for my birthday two months ago. I smile at my cracked reflection in the mirror. I know I look good.

I hear a soft knocking at my door and look over to see Dwayne, he's got a basic white t-shirt on that dips on the neck and skinny jeans that make his butt look great. I beam at him, and he smiles regretfully back. My grin transforms to a smirk, not regretting kissing Chris in the slightest. It's something I've wanted to do for awhile.

"You're planning something stupid, aren't you?" He says to me, sitting down on top of my duvet I lean my head against his shoulder. I can't get anything past him. We have been through too much together and share too strong a bond. Jokes aside, I know I love him. He makes the decision I will make impossibly harder.

"I've been there before, it's amazing" I tell him, talking about the Capitol. Its unauthorised, but sometimes the extremely wealthy don't want to come to the districts to pleasure themselves. Instead they spend obscene amounts of money shipping us in, in the dead of night we sneak onto trains transporting goods from other districts. It's a scary on those trains, you are alone and in the dark, have to get off at the right spot or else be known as a traitor to the districts and converted to an avox.

I picture the gleaming fountains and buildings that seem so high they can touch the crowds. Once I worked a hens party, the woman were obscenely fat and dressed up in the Capitols most bizarre fashion. They snuck me out to the street, showing me some of the secrets of the Capitol I'm sure even most living there don't know. I tasted exceptional food, and drank until my liver could take no longer. I did my fair share of pleasuring that night too, but the drink I had taken had made it a lot easier to bare.

For every good visit these are more terrible ones. Story's float down the lines, of those in our profession picked up and abused and assaulted by Peacekeepers, dumped out in the gutter they either bleed to death or wish they had. Turned into avoxes they spend their lives working for the Capitol. I don't know what they do specifically, but that makes the stories even scarier.

That and the fact it was almost me once. It was on a trip when I had just started making a name for myself in the profession. Fresh in the business, I had just run away from home to escape my family and didn't know any better. I let those around me manipulate me into the most dangerous job of my career, I would never do it now.

I snuck onto a coal train that came from District 12, there was another girl there with me, she was from District 4. There's not much opportunities for our profession in Four, they prefer to keep a clean and tight knit reputation. So she was going to the Capitol, she had powerful man overseeing her trip, though he would not tell me who he was.

But it all went terribly wrong. Peacekeepers swarmed the train, I was lucky I jumped out just in time, sprinting off into the woods it took me days to stumble my way back to my district. Bloodied and dehydrated Dwayne had helped to nurse me back to help, taking my clients as well as his own until I was able to handle it again.

I saw the girl get nabbed, the look of fear in her unique eyes, a mix of teal with a swirling green design, I wished I could go back for her. I saw her getting grabbed roughly by the Peacekeepers, her vivid golden hair was tugged so hard it came out in tufts. She screamed in a voice that sounded like wind chimes, and I saw a small tattoo of a Trident on her left wrist as she threw them up to defend her face. She must be an avox now. I think about her sometimes, wishing her the best of her situation. The weight of that night still hangs on my shoulders, my guilt weighing me down.

"I have to get out of here." I explain to Dwayne, these thoughts only solidifying the idea inside of my head. "I can't risk it anymore, can't do the life, can't be treated like an object." My voice cracks emotion and I feel tears roll down my warm cheeks.

Dwayne looks at me, his eyes full of emotion as he squeezes one of his hands in mine. I squeeze back. I realise this is what a broken heart feels like. I'm admitting he isn't enough. I think that's the worst thing I could say to him. Because I am enough for him.

"I wish I could volunteer for your place" he says in a mournful voice. My heart lurches, I know he hates the two year age gap between us that means my life is on the line at reapings and his is not. "No" I mumble, my voice sounds strangled and weak.

"You need to keep going. You're stronger than me." His expression drops and I see a single tear fall from his eye, appearing from underneath his large eyelashes he shakes his head. Dropping my hand. It's too cool in his absence.

"No." He says, his voice sounding confused. "No, I'm not stronger than you. You don't get to be the weak one!" He yells at me through paper thin walls, tears are cascading from his cheeks now, wetting the cover beneath us. I just stare up at him, my tears merging with his. He takes a shaky breath, walking toward the door.

Just before he exists he turns his head toward me, looking back with pity in his eyes. "If you volunteer today it's not just yourself that you're killing." He says, his voice cracks and he has to swallow a large knot before he continues. "You're killing me too." And with that he exists the door, leaving it hanging open.

Proper sobs wrack my body at that. I can't stand this life anymore, I won't be able to survive it. But by giving me the chance at something better I sentence him to something worse. Then again who is to say death is worse? I can't imagine anything worse than reality at this moment in time.

I close my eyes, reading my strength for today. I know what I have to do. I have to be selfish. Dwyane will make his own decision but mine has been made since I saw the District 4 girl taken before my eyes. I look down at the faulty digital clock sitting at my bedside, I still have hours before the reaping begins but suddenly the walls of this place are closing in on me and I have to get out.

I drag my feet across the floors of this place for the final time, emerging outside into the smell of petrol and burned plastic I take one look back at the faded red letters hanging from the top of the drab concrete building, _JohnnyJoints_ the letters spell out. I vow that I will never have to go back into that place.

As I walk the long trail to the town square I stare at the cracked concrete pathway, tears still dance at the edge of my vision. Another pair of footsteps join mine, dark leather shoes sit on their feet. I look up into the eyes of my favourite brother.

"You okay?" He asks me, his tall and lanky frame stands powerful next to mine. Looking up into his eyes I realise I cannot lie to him. Wrapping an arm around his shoulders I cry into his expensive dress shirt and grey jacket. Letting it all out.

"No" I tell him, and that one word explains all.

 **Caroline Hollyhock, 17, District 5.**

I wake up to the soft snores of my husband in the bed next to me, I stay still, listening to the deep rumbles he makes, softly smiling I move silently, taking the covers off my toned body I tiptoe toward the bathroom. Looking over my shoulder I see his silhouette, tall dark and handsome he is everything I thought I ever wanted.

I don't try to wake him, at 24 he does not fear the reaping and instead can afford to sleep through it. He will be there, for me. But does not need to prepare himself for what might come. I spent most of the night last night tossing and turning in fear, the past couple years of my life have been a dream come true. It almost feels like I'm due for a tragedy.

Drool pools on the pillow in front of him as his snores continue to fill the room around us. His hair is messy, in sleep it falls over his eyes. He was up late last night, he's been put on night shifts more often lately, working security inside of the of our districts large hydroelectric dams. He claims he doesn't mind, but the dark bags that rest under his eyes suggest otherwise.

I get changed swiftly, letting my vivid red hair fall down my back in a tangled mess. I don't have the energy this morning to combat the knots that has developed inside of it. Bedsides, I don't think I would be able to get my body out of any bathwater, not with the nauseating feeling I woke up with this morning. Its followed me for the past couple of weeks.

I remember when we first got married, we were the gossip of our district for months afterward. No one expects a young marriage. We all know that life can be extremely short here, but that doesn't give its citizens a free pass. I was completely confident in my decision at 16, now almost 18 I wonder what life could be like if I had not rushed into the marriage. The others that I could meet and the freedom that meant I would not be tied down.

Anton is lovley, a complete gentleman he swept of off my feet at 14. He was my first love, my everything. A quiet man he is exceptionally bright, but he wastes it away working security. We met due to my father, the man brought Anton home one night for dinner, he works security as well and was boasting about the new boy that had joined. Now I wonder if he was setting up his daughter with a suitable match. I don't mind if he was. He was right.

The people in Five are different from any other, we gossip about anything and anyone. Gossip from the other districts also filters to us, I find out at my job as a secretary for the mayor the first information and am the first to spread it. Like a large game of chinese whispers it spreads around the district. It's a funny feeling of power that I get once it has, a feeling that I could lie and no one would know any better. I haven't. But the temptation is always there.

I have no appetite this morning, my nerves constricting my throat and my stomach feeling nauseous I pick up a small pad of paper we leave in our small kitchen, it's not to be wasted. Even paper is expensive in ur district, though we are not badly off. Neither of us sees the need to buy much excessive clothing or furniture for the home. Instead we save our money for fancy food or experiences, the Presidents upping rations has made so we no longer need to worry at all about being hungry. We live in comfort, for two residents doing lowley jobs.

 _See you at the square._

 _Love, C._

I leave the note on the wooden counter, it has cracks running through it from years of abuse and it is rough under my soft hands. As if teasing blisters. A large chopping board sits by the stove top, a collection of razor sharp knives can be found embedded in a board. Cutlery can be found in a draw near my hips and cooking utensils in the next draw along. Pots and pans as well as plates and cups are near my feet. It's home. A pang goes through my heat at the thought this could be my last time in this house.

I grab a packet of hard lollies out of one of the draws in the pantry, sweet things are my favourite and these taste like heaven on earth. I hope that Anton won't mind, he's never had much time for those things sweet, claiming they rot your teeth. Our next paychecks will come in tomorrow, we will be able to buy more then if necessary.

I glance at the living room, a couple of frayed sofas sit next to each other with colourful quilts wrapped around faded pillows. A small TV stand holds our most expensive possession, though we did not buy it, a TV is given to every household. How else would you watch the games?

A large matt sits on the floor, a stain is in the center of it from a spilled wine glass the night of our wedding. It took a long time to save up to be able to afford it, but the memories it leaves in the rug are almost better than the bitter taste and fuzzy feelings that the liquid creates.

Slowly, I drag my feet along the hallway. I look into our shabby bathroom, its walls are peeling and several tiles are cracked. A large bathtub sits in the far edge that spits out lukewarm water, vaguely warm water on occasion and a toilet and basin stand opposite it. A large oval mirror is mounted on the wall, a present from my parents for getting married. My father was someone that never opposed the marriage.

Finally, I peek my head back around the bedroom door. My eyes train to my husband, lying on our lumpy mattress it stands on a light wooden bed frame that he made for us himself. He is wrapped up in our large and fluffy duvet thats enormous, it makes me feel loved whenever I am underneath it with him.

Two wooden bedside tables are too high next to it, they both hold glasses full of water. It gets quite hot here in the summer. But I prefer that to the cold. The faded white walls of the bedroom seem to wave goodbye as I turn my body, as the sunlight hits them through blinds that shake in the gentle wind, exposing light underneath them. Carefully I walk out of the door and out of the house. Out of my home.

I step into a warm day, the sun hangs high in the sky, exposing the beautiful mountain ranges around the district. A slight breeze carried the smell of salt over, I'm told it comes from District 4 but do not know how much truth that tail has. I walk toward the square with no real purpose. It's an extremely short walk. Not at all like the walk you have to take if you're coming from the railroad. That walk takes at least an hour.

If the scenery is the best part of our district, our large dams and wind farms can be spotted in large hills and valleys, as if advertising the cleanest district around. But it fools nobody, we all know of the large power plants sitting under the earth, the resources they consume and the black smog that is excreted around the opposite side of the largest hill.

Yes, if the scenery is the best part then the people are the worst. They are nosey, never able to keep to themselves they need to find the next secret to dig up. Two can keep a secret if one of them is dead. In District 5 even the dead talk.

As I walk toward the square many point and whisper at me, there was a rumor I eloped with Anton because he got me pregnant and we went against our family's wishes. The rumor is not true, but somehow it still has not left me. I've heard worse versions too, about illicit affairs and coverups. But I ignore them. People will believe their own truths.

I walk past a group of carts, they are strung up with colourful quilts and ribbons. They sell everything from trinkets to blankets and I always take a moment to stop and look at what they have to offer. Anton would never allow wasted money on these items but I still stop every time to look. I let the beauty of the bright colours devour my senses. It's nice to have a change once in awhile, these stalls are like a breath of fresh air.

I walk up to one that sells herb concoctions, reading intricately labeled bottles I hear a gasp behind me, turning, I see an old woman. I have respect for her, her skin is warm and sagging, she walks hunched, staring at the ground in front of her. But now she sits, looking directly into my eyes.

She beckons me over with a frail hand and I get a sinking feeling in my stomach. My intuition tells me this can't be good. I always trust my intuition. She grabs my wrist as I get near her, pulling me forward with unexpected strength I stumble forward, trying not to trip over woven baskets at her stands feet.

She stares at me with wide eyes, garbling something unintelligible at me with fear in her voice. I take a step back, panic starting to rise in my stomach as the woman makes obscene gestures, her gargling voice rising louder and attracting the attention of those around us. I find it hard to swallow as a young girl runs up to her, grabbing her arm she listens to the unintelligible noises coming out of the lady's mouth.

The young girls eyes turn sympathetic as she looks to me then her eyes drift to my abdomen. I don't listen to what she has to say, my intuition telling me that it can't be good. I run out of the marketplace, the older woman yelling after me. Once I am out of her range I turn my eyes back to the mountains surrounding us, waking toward the square without a backward glance at the colourful carts. I don't want to know what she was going to predict. I know it would be too bad to comprehend.

I arrive at the square with a bit of time before the reaping and wait at the entrance. I wring my hands out, trying to forget about the woman. I am waiting for a specific person. I smile and console those who need it while I wait for her, those around me see me as a kind of leader. Despite the cruel rumors. I distract myself from my own turmoil. If I keep busy with others I won't have the time to face my own demons. I'm always there with a smile and kind word for those that need it, no matter if I know them personally or not.

I give the last of my hard lollies to a group of 12 year olds that look terrified. The lollies briefly gain smiles on their faces and a smile on my own breaks out, glad I could help these kids find at least a tiny sollice in today.

"Hey stranger" a feminine voice cuts to my right and a grin that could melt the sun lights up my face as I turn toward my best friend Alyssa. She distracts me from my inner turmoil, she's always been good at that. Making nothing else matter when I'm in her presence. "Hey" I tell her, linking arms we go into the reaping together, the feel of her arm against mine feels natural. Perfect even. Like it was always supposed to be. Our steps sync up and I giggle at how well we fit together. Like two puzzle pieces perfectly made.

Once our blood has been taken and we have been counted we walk together to the 17 year old girls section. "Want some?" Alyssa says, pulling a flask out of her coat pocket. I sniff it and the sharp scent of alcohol hits my nose. I wrinkle my own in disgust, I've never had much time for the stuff. She just beams at me. "For luck" she explains, before taking a large swig of the liquid.

I smile at her, her erratic attitude makes me feel older than I am, sometimes I wish I could go back to being a child like her. Not a married woman with a job and a house. She opens her mouth to say something, but our districts applause cuts her out as our escort enters the stage. She's a tall woman, her long neck reminds me of a giraffe and it looks like shes extended it out with metal rings wrapping around it. She's new this year.

A hand slips into mine and I squeeze Alyssas. She's more afraid of this than me. I know she won't of slept for days before in fear of her name being chosen. When your biggest fear is death and this pageant being a death sentence for the majority of those outside of the career districts it's understandable why she's so nervous. A cold sweat breaks out into my hand too. I can't lose her, not today. Not with the news the old lady told me that I know is right. My intuition tells me so.

Our escort starts a video rolling and I see our Presidents face plastered across the large brick building behind the stage. She thanks our district for the power we provide that is essential for all of Panem before ending on a line that has become famous for her. "Thank you for your sacrifice." She tells us, her eyes seem extremely sad, like she is on the verge of tears and my heart goes out to her. She may continue this pageant, but she is only following orders set out to her almost 200 years ago.

Our escort sheds a tear at her powerful speech before making her way to the girls bowl. Digging perfectly manicured nails in she picks up two slips, before chuckling and releasing one. There is a collective intake of breath. Whoever is reaped this year came so close to being safe. She struts back to the microphone opening the slip there is dead silence from the girls section.

"Alyssa Cane." I hear the name of my best friend being sentenced to death. "No!" she cries out, tears already falling from her cheeks as she hugs onto me tighter, with frightened eyes she starts to pull away, as the Peacekeepers near. My brain is cloudy. This can't be happening.

Looking above the boys section I see Anton. He wears a smile that his wife was not chosen. But I look over at Alyssa, she's marched to the stage, looking terrified her eyes comb the crowd for mine. Her hands clasp the edge of her skirt like it is her lifeline and she looks younger than her 17 years of age.

I know what I must do. When our escort calls for volunteers I take a shaky breath before my voice rings out. "I volunteer!" Silence meets me, this district is not used to volunteers. Not with the decent lives we live and high death rate in the games. It's basically a death sentence. Not something you volunteer for.

I walk fluidly to the stage, beaming at the crowd I wave toward those I know. They look at me with sad eyes, most of them know me in one way or another. I hear a strangled cry from the edge of the family members section and watch as Anton claws his way toward me. Yelling at me to stop. But I continue up the impossibly long trail to the stage. He is blocked by a wall of Peacekeepers.

Alyssa looks at me with wild eyes as we cross paths. She hugs me tightly there on the steps. Me going toward death and her away. A single tear falls from my cheek as we break apart. She wipes it away with her thumb which makes my stomach backflip.

I say my name to our escort who rings it out on stage, the only sound that greets it is Antons sobbing. She then moves over to the boys bowl, obviously excited about the dramatic turn of events from such a normally boring district she jammes her hand right to the bottom of the bowl, causing a hiss of pain when her fist slides against the glass.

I can't help but let out a chuckle. This is not the end. It can't be. She walks back to the microphone, throwing me a dirty look as she calls out the boys name. "Oliver Apollo" she calls, a boy I don't know.

But I spot him soon enough in the stage, he looks surprised, his mouth half open its almost like he was about to volunteer for himself. Quickly he shakes this off, strutting up to the stage with the confidence only someone as attractive as him can muster. He's handsome, with tanned dark skin and messy brown hair. His smile is slightly crooked and his face is without an imperfection. A smile lights up my own as we are told to shake hands, he looks strong. He looks like a good ally.

We face our district together as our escort calls out our names. "District 5 I give you your tributes! Caroline Hollyhock and Oliver Apollo!" Their applause is almost enough to drown out the crying I hear from Anton and Alyssa. Almost.

 **Authors Note: Thank you all again for your constant support of the story. I'm determined not to just have this become another SYOT that crumbles and your support is really making me want to continue writing it. I am so pumped to get to the games you guys have no idea how many plans I have ahaha**

 **Thank you all for reading, and let me know what you think of these two :D**

 **And as always,**

 **May the odds be ever in your favour….**


	10. Trouble In Paradise

**Aetius Valter, 54, The Capitol.**

Urgent beeping cuts through the silence of a large office as the man rushes over to the door of the room. Pulling it forcefully with tough hands he slams it closed behind him, the sound echoes loudly over pale walls. Feet thud rapidly on marble tiles as he bursts into a large oval room, surrounding him are other game makers. All hand picked, it is their job to make sure that the reaping goes smoothly. They have failed.

"What happened?" The man barks to a woman who scurries her way over to him. Eyes trailed on the floor she fidgets nervously, not meeting his gaze. Its her job to make sure the kids chosen get from the reaping to the trains safley. The easiest job with all the peacekeepers in Panem at her command. My heart sinks.

"One of our tributes was attacked during the goodbyes." The woman's voice rushes out, like a deflating balloon she sags after saying the words.

"Christ!" The man yells, punching the wall next to him with enough strength to make it crack. In the six years of him being head gamemaker nothing like this has ever happened. He hasn't even heard of it happening to others. Of course it's the one year he has the President breathing down his neck. He runs his fingers over eyes that feel too hot, taking deep breaths he tries to diffuse the anger that is running through his veins like hot lava. It causes his body to shake.

"Sir…." The woman states, it takes all his strength not to punch her, listening to her meek voice she does not own her mistake, she tries to hide from it. "What?" He asks, his voice a deep growl, other gamemakers look over to them, trying to understand his reaction to the mistake. He cannot crack. If he cracks they will as well. We can't have pandemonium on the most anticipated day of the year.

"What would you like us to do with the attacker?" The man freezes, he does not know the protocol for these things. He tugs his dark hair forcefully, hoping the slight pain will help ground him to reality of the world that is now spinning around him. He's lost for words. Around him a pin drop could be heard.

"Keep the rest of the reapings stable and this under wraps. I'll be back." His commanding voice is what they need in this time of crisis and immediately the large room is filled with the noise of keyboards typing and voices communicating with those inside of other districts.

He walks quickly, others moving toward the room step out of his way, imposed by his large presence. He knows who he must see, and the wrath he will face there. He is worried about facing the wrath of the President, but another part of him longs to be able to see her with no others around. It's a very dangerous emotion.

 **Ziva Crimson, 27, The Capitol.**

The doorbell rings shrilly, making both of the women jump as they lie together on a plush velvet couch inside of the President's mansion. Their legs are tangled together in the quick movement and soft laughter cuts through the low thrum of the television. She laughs at the way the smaller woman's heartbeat accelerates in her chest, the Presidents ear is pressed against, she sighs as she starts to hear it normalise again.

"You better get that" the woman tells the her softly, pressing a kiss on her collar as they untangle their limbs. Enjoying the feel of each others bodies for a moment longer. They were watching the reapings. District Six's is due to play any moment now. She walks softly toward the door, peeping out of the eyehole. She should not be disrupted today. She should _never_ be disrupted.

Her heart skips a beat when she is faced with Aetius in front of the door, looking brooding in all black with only a hint of lightening colour from his hair and artificial eyes. He looks stressed, tapping a foot too fast on the ground he cringes as he presses the button to ring the doorbell again. She can tell he doesn't want to be here.

Hastily, she rubs a hand around her delicate lips, trying to remove smudged lipstick. "It's important" she tells Anya, the woman nods, sitting up on the couch she quickly tidies her appearance.

The President is not in proper attire, still in her form fitting jeans and dark t-shirt, she was not expecting anyone to come to her home. She is not due for a speech until this evening, with the stylists arriving late afternoon. There is no time to change. She will have to take a risk and let him see into part of my personal life, something that should never do with those that fear you. But she don't have another option.

The door opens slowly, Aetius face contorts to relief then nervousness again. He stands powerful with perfect posture, towering over her with his large frame. But his body language is weak, showing how much he fears her even if he does not say so explicitly. She could end his life with the blink of an eye.

"I hope you have something important to tell me seeing as you are leaving your post." She reprimands. He winces at the chide like a young boy, not like the fifty year old man he is. "We have a situation" he states, cocking his head toward my living room in a silent request to talk inside. I allow it. Cameramen have been stationed around my home since just after I got back this morning. It's not good publicity if they see our head gamemaker on the doorstep looking so nervous.

She nods at Anya, she leaves the room wordlessly. "What is it?" She asks, turning toward Aretius who is scanning the room. Looking back to her he does not quite meet her eyes, instead looking toward her collarbone. "A tribute was attacked during the goodbyes." He states emotionless. Her heart drops.

"Are they okay?" Her voice comes out overly concerned, awarding her a puzzled look from Aetius. "I...I presume so," he stumbles. Not expecting that to be her first question he did not bother checking himself. He has an injured tribute. Not a dead one.

"We have the attacker in custody. What do you want us to do?" He asks, his voice catching on something. She looks up, startled at his changing tone. He does not back down. "What's the protocol?" She asks, her brows furrowed. She cannot remember any time something like this has happened. Not in her time. Or her parents.

"There isn't." His sharp voice solidifies her thoughts as she mulls the situation over. This is the first time it has happened. An example must be made. She notices his clenched fists next to her. They are slightly intimidating and she feels herself take a step back from his figure, despite her having all of the power in the situation. Tension suddenly starts to radiate off of his body and her heart clenches uneasily. She tries to shake it off, mulling over the situation at hand. A gamemaker can be tamed, this situation needs precision.

"He's committed not just a crime against that tribute but toward the Capitol as well. The tribute is under my protection from the moment they are reaped to the moment they are placed in the arena." Her voice picks up in power as she talks, she is no longer just a woman facing a man. She is the commander. "Punish him for treason. Make it play to all the districts." Her command is final and the man issues a low, slightly forced bow.

She looks over his shoulder, District Six's reaping has started to play. The sound muted she watches for a moment as the escort calls a soundless name. It's almost comical when she sees a boy with bronze hair rush out of line to get to the reaped girl. A close up shows his nose squirting blood from a peacekeepers fist.

She looks over to Aetius, his mouth has dropped big enough to shove a tennis ball inside. A smirk plays on her lips. "Leave that one be. The peacekeepers will punish him enough. It will make good TV." She turns her back and the older man leaves, shutting the door firmly behind him.

She looks back to the TV, the girl stands on the stage, a look of immense pain on the girls face as she watches the boy being beaten. She's seeing love. Pure and simple love. She feels a tear slip down her cheek as the boy limps off, into the arms of a blonde woman slightly too old old to be with the children. She secretly hope no one important notices.

An arm slips around her back as she watches the screen and the girl being marched off the stage. She sentenced this girl to death, cruel regret surges through her veins. "I don't think I can do this anymore." She whispers brokenly to the woman beside her, turquoise eyes look up at her full of love as she kisses a lipstick mark on the Presidents collarbone.

"So don't." She whispers.

The President wishes it was that simple.

 **Authors note:** **I thought I would give you guys a little taster of the next chapter as I'm very excited about it. It's also been awhile since we checked on our friends in the Capitol…**

 **Keep an eye on these ones, they will be important later on ;)**

 **Real talk here I looove all the support you guys are giving me please continue it it really makes this all worth while and me to get a little fuzzy feeling in my chest when I read over them.**

 **Just a little real talk here guys, are twice a week updates okay? I might chuck a third one in for occasions like this. I've been following some other SYOTS that are like daily updates and I don't want to do you guys badly by only updating twice a week.**

 **Let me know how this chapter was, and thank you all for reading.**

 **May the odds be ever in your favour…**


	11. Euphoria (D6 - REAPING)

**Esme Layton, 17, District 6.**

Cigarette smoke trails from my mouth as I pass it along to the boy next to me. I don't know his name, he told me it when I entered the bar earlier, I promptly forgot it. He knows my reputation. His straight auburn hair falls to his chin and muscles ripple in all the right places with rough stubble that has rubbed my face slightly raw from the connection of our lips.

I line up my next shot with my cue, looking over a pool table that is worn out and faded, tape sticks some of the velvet down onto cheap wood and the cues no longer have tips. No one minds. You don't go to this bar for a fancy time. You go for a good time. Sliding my arm back gracefully I shove the cue forward where it connects beautifully with the white ball and hits the black I was aiming for.

I laugh in glee as the black sinks and the white rickochets out of the pocket. Winning me the game. Turning back to the boy I grin at him as he brings his body closer to mine, passing the cigarette I take another drag before he slides our bodys together gracefully, tilting my head with a rough hand he presses his lips to mine.

I sigh into the kiss, letting our body's feel connected in a moment of passion I use my arms to maneuver myself on top of the pool table. If the owner sees me he'll yell, but I'm in too good a mood to let that get to me. I slide my hands under the boys shirt, tracing the muscles on his back as his hands cup around my face.

"I think I love you" he mumbles to me, I laugh softly, crushing our lips back together I refuse to think. Letting my body speak for itself it's the perfect escape. That is until an enormous boy pulls him off me. "What the fuck?" I grumble, before I look over to see who the boy is.

Ahhh shit I think to myself as Axel grabs my shoulder, roughly pulling me out of the bar. "I'll be back!" I yell to the boy. He smiles, picking up his beer he goes over to the friends he came in with a few hours ago.

"You're late. We were going to do it without you." Axel says, marching me over to the rest of my friends. They stand together in a dark alley to the left of the bar, stereotypical. They look slightly anxious the boy with bronze hair looks down at his watch nervously, before relief lights up his face as he sees me. "You should of known where I would be" I bite back, still annoyed.

"Where were you? " A beautiful blonde echos my words, long wavy hair falling to her waist. "Trying her best to get pregnant" Axel jabs, annoyance clear in his voice. The sharp jab runs smoothly over my tough skin as I shrug him off nonchalantly. "Lets go" the boy staring at his watch states. "He's right" The blonde - Addison - agrees, leading us forward. We all follow in her wake.

Throwing my head to the sky I smile up at the stars that lie above my head, boots crunching on the gravel beneath me as I follow my friends into the part of town that most run from. Shop windows are bordered up with plywood from smashed windows, broken glass litters the ground. Spray Paint clings to dull bricks and I laugh at the sight of a shaggy golden dog that sleeps on the sidewalk, his body rises and falls rhythmically with the breaths he takes. Warm breath condenses in the air in front of his nose, drifting off high into the sky.

Adrenaline pumps in my veins as we stand on a street corner, my hands rubbing into each other to try and create a small amount of warmth in them. A large pair of hands cup mine as my best friend Riley starts to rub them too, helping me to warm up. "Thanks" I joke, looking into his stormy grey eyes and the smirk planted there. I bring my lips to his cool cheek as thanks, he turns red.

A wolf whistle is sounds behind us, I look over to yell at him, before I see Addison punching him hard in the leg. "Shut up Axel" she whispers, looking over her shoulder nervously. He does so immediately, nodding an apology he leans on a post next to us. A backpack hangs loosely from his shoulders in his casual stance you would never imagine the destruction what's inside can cause to people.

A figure approaches us, their hoodie pulled high over a sunken face and a limp to their walk. We all tense up. The Addison stands in front of us, looking like an angel of hell. The figure stops in front of us, looking shakily from side to side as if checking if the coast is clear. After a few tense moments of my body feeling like it is ready to snap, they bury a hand into their pocket, bringing out a wad of cash.

The dog lifts its head and sniffs the air as if understanding the hidden transaction that is taking place, before resting its head back on its paws. As if saying as long as I'm not involved I don't care what you are doing. The dog helps me to relax slightly in the tense situation, animals are good at picking out when trouble is in the air, if we were about to be caught I'm almost positive he would give us a sign.

Addison's face lights up as she grabs the bundle, counting it quickly she nods to Axel who digs a massive hand into his backpack. Carefully grabbing a vile of pale liquid he sets it in the strangers hands. Not a stranger. A customer. Their face lights up from beneath the hood at the fix we just supplied, before they scurry off like a rat.

The backpack is passed to me and I slip it on carefully, letting its too loose straps almost fall off my shoulders. We march off in the opposite direction to the customer, our boots echoing hollowly on the ground in front of us my heartbeat is the only thing I can focus on. It pounds in my ears like a drum.

We have to be careful now, ever since we found Forde dead we move as a team, no one goes by themselves when a deal is being made. And no one takes morphine themselves. That's one line I have danced very close to, but never crossed. The image of his body, lying in a ditch, his back covered in stab wounds and his blood oozing out onto the ground, still haunts to me.

We only feel safe again once we reach another part of town, confident we weren't spotted we laugh in relief under the light of a new moon. It's a dangerous job we do. But I would not trade the adrenaline rush it brings for the world. I stare at my friends smiling faces and we all take each others hands, sending a silent prayer up to a god we don't believe in we are thankful we were not caught.

We stay that way for a moment longer before releasing each others hands. A flask is passed around and I take a long gulp, letting the sharp bite of the alcohol make my senses come alive and remind me what it means to be living. A large grin lights up my face and under the harsh light of the moon it almost looks like a grimace.

Now that we know no ones watching I give the backpack back to Axel, his huge figure would be imposing to those that don't know him in darkness but I find it reassuring. I know no one will try anything with him around. I know that he knows it too, I can see it in the way he struts into any situation without a care in the world.

"Alright kiddos I'm going to take this back to the flat" Addison says, issuing to the cash that sticks slightly out of her pocket. "I'll head off with you" Axel says, smiling softly at her. She smiles a big toothy grin back, making her face light up like the sun.

I look at Riley, a mischievous grin on my face. "You game?" I ask him, he has a brooding look on his face, shadow making him blend into the darkness around us. "Hell yes" he tells me, coming over he wraps an arm around my neck, tossling my carefully styled hair. I laugh with him, as we walk off hand in hand waving goodbye to our friends.

"Be careful!" Addison yells at us, her smile not quite masking the worry she feels. "When are we not?" I yell back, poking my tongue at her we round a corner separating our two groups. Riley passes me the flask again and I sip it as we walk, making our way to a familiar hangout.

Rileys been in my life almost forever, I can still remember when we first met. I had run out of home, my mother hurling abuse as a drunken monster I had to get out of there. Young and alone I wandered the street with no real purpose, getting stared at by people that looked like feral dogs I felt unsure of myself for the first time, this feeling increased as the sun went down and the moon arrived.

Then Riley came barreling around the corner, a paper bag in his hands and a man with a large gut chasing him. "Run!" he yelled out to me. I'm still not sure what made me follow him, I wasn't the one in trouble. But follow him I did and we speed around the dngy neighbourhood I felt for the first time what it truly meant to be alive with adrenaline in my veins and a threat behind us.

Eventually we lost the man, ducking into a small tunnel that dumped us inside of a junk yard, once there we sat together on top of the bonnet of a rusty old car, he brought out the paper bag and I tasted lollies for the first time in my life. We laughed and talked until well after the sun came up again. We met there for years, our own little spot.

I'm startled back to reality with a sharp tug to my wrist. "Whats up?" I ask him, looking over a mischievous grin lights up his face and I feel my heart accelerate in what it could mean. "Dare you to climb it" he grins, pointing towards a huge crane reaching up into an abandoned apartment building, it must be at least 50 meters tall, its orange paint peeling. Dirt and brick crumble onto the ground beneath it in a demolition process, as if it is showing how it defeated them.

"You're on" I reply, jogging over to the machine. One rough palm is placed after the other as I feel the familiar rush in my veins at doing something dangerous. This is the feeling I live for. I climb and climb, the wind starting to whip around my body as I reach greater heights. It tugs at my leather jacket like an impatient child as I scale higher and higher.

It takes an instant inside of an eternity to reach the top, looking down I can just about see Riley beneath me, he blurs into the ground but I see the bronze of his hair reflecting moonlight. I laugh at the dizziness this height causes as I turn my face toward the wind, the scent of smoke travels on it and I vaguely wonder what is burning down now. Arson is common in District Six, the peacekeepers spend as much time putting out fires as they do whipping people for them.

"I'm on top of the world!" I yell to no one in particular as I look out over our enormous district. Light pollution can be seen as clear as day from the heart, spreading out in cracks past the area I am now in. I live even further out of the city, there's not many places for a bunch of orphans inside of the heart.

I jump as I feel a hand on my shoulder, slipping closer to the edge of the crane. "What the hell?" I shriek, looking over to see Riley's smiling face beside me. "You're not very nice" I tell him in mock hurt, he just laughs at me, swinging his legs over the edge of the crane he takes in the view of the district for himself.

"Well now I have to one up you" I tell him, annoyance dripping from my voice. He looks at me startled, lost in his own world. "What?" He asks, a puzzled expression sits on his face. "Well you dared me to come up here that was _supposed_ to me my moment" my voice is teasing but his expression turns mischievous.

"Fine" he states, puffing out his chest. "I dare you to hang from the crane." My heart skips a beat, looking down again I realise truly how far up we are here. If I drop I will surely die, there will be no hope 50 meters in the air. But the know it all expression on his boyish face makes the decision firm in my mind. I don't back from dares.

"Got any of that vodka?" I ask him, wishing I had another cigarette. He pulls the flask out, grinning he doesn't think I will go through with this. I take a deep gulp, finishing the last of it he looks annoyed as he takes it back, tucking it into the thick denim jacket that he wears. Its my favourite jacket of his, with a kind of animal fur lining it it looks fluffy and protective.

I take a deep breath, gripping tightly onto a beam of the crane I swing my body over before I can think too hard. My arms take the weight of my body with a tug and my legs swing loosely below me, the adrenaline going through my veins now beats all the other rushes of tonight combined and I feel like I have the largest high of my life.

"What the fuck!" He yells from above, he runs his hands through his hair as he looks down at me. "Watch this" I tell him, beaming I take one of my hands off the crane and swing prepariously with only one hand stopping me from falling to my death. "You're honestly insane" he calls down, genuine fear in his voice as I laugh, tears streaming down my cheeks from a mixture of fear and euphoria.

"I'm alive!" I yell up to him, tensing my muscles I easily pull my body back up to the crane, pulling a leg back over I sit back on the edge. An amazing feeling in my stomach seems to take over my body, filling it with a feeling that is greater than life itself. "You're so stupid" he whispers, grabbing my body with his he crushes me in a hug. His body shaking.

"Hey, I'm okay" I laugh, pushing his cheek up so he's forced to look into my eyes. He nods shakily, running a hand through his hair. "It's time to get down now" he whispers. I sigh and take another look over the top of our little big world. Our district is the largest in Panem, or at least we are taught that in school, but sometimes it seems so small. Like everything inside of it has already been done already.

I follow Riley down the latter, a few wobbles get my heart racing again but can do nothing to fill the void that I just felt hanging from the crane. When we reach the bottom we look at eachother, our hands sweaty from the climb I force myself to smile, my adrenaline has crashed me back down to the ground further than our train tunnels.

He takes me by surprise, grabbing both his hands in mine he forces me to look up into his eyes. "Promise me you won't ever leave me" he says, his voice soft and husky as he looks down upon me. "I would do anything for you, please don't leave me." His voice cracks at the last word and I feel my heart beat faster in my chest. "Hey… I'll be fine…. I promise." I tell him, my voice quiet in the night. My arms find his back and wrap around them. We stay that way for a while, basking in each others warmth, before I finally let go. Shaking.

"You coming home?" He asks, reaching his hand out to mine. I want to go with him. I do. But my heart is steadily sinking as the adrenaline leaves my body and I long too much for the rush of it again tonight, I've danced too close to the sun and if I'm not signed I won't be happy. I think back to the boy with the auburn hair from earlier and shake my head at Riley.

"I'll catch up to you later" I tell him, turning my back on him. I think I hear him sign before walking toward the apartment we share with Axel and Addison. I feel a slight pang of guilt at abandoning him but my footsteps blur and before I know it I am back in the arms of the boy with the auburn hair. He is nearly enough for me to forget about the sinking feeling that is slowly expanding inside of my chest, not quite, but enough to get me through tonight.

When he leads me back to his home in the wealthiest part of the district I realise I lied to Riley. I won't see him later, I'll see him at the reaping tomorrow. I also realise that tonight I don't care.

 **Jerry Kapper, 15, District 6.**

I wipe sleep from the corners of my vision as I wake up in a fluffy bed, the covers tucked to my chin I am wrapped in a bubble of heat that I refuse to break from. I hug the teddy bear I still sleep with to my chest, she's worn and faded. But she makes she me feel safe. And she smells like home.

I awoke from a good dream, I was with my best friend Melanie and we were in a meadow. The sunlight framed her perfectly and she wore a crown of flowers. I was lying in the meadow, she tucked flowers I had never seen before all around my body in a comforting pattern, surrounding my body with them and making a bouquet, pressing it with my hands to my chest. I think I saw the type in a book of plants before, bringing the image to my head I picture the pale flowers with beautiful shades of violet, yellow and white on delicate stems. I think they grow wild in other districts. I wonder what it's like to have that beauty surround you every day. Nothing could go wrong in a place like that. I know it.

Cracking one eye open slightly I see that the windows I left open last night to view the stars still show black, with dawn teasing the horizon. I still have time to sleep. I lie still, reminiscing on the peaceful feeling that my dream has wrapped me in and wear it like a blanket, I can't feel anything but at peace with that image inside of my mind.

But a pain in my bladder makes me groan, rolling out of my bed ruefully I place one socked foot in front of the other, scratching under my arms I am only half awake as I use the bathroom I share with my older sister and brother. My sisters room is down the hall but my brothers leads through this bathroom and curiosity gets me to peak through his door once I notice that it has been left open a touch. Sticking my head in, my eyebrows shot up as I notice another figure in his bed.

I know I should walk away, but endless curiosity gets me leaning closer to the bed, craning my neck to see who it is. No one I recognize. She is wrapped with the blanket tightly around her body, my brothers arm lies around her back as she is snuggled into his chest. Clothes strawn around the room tell me what has happened and I can't help but feel envious. My brother has always been the one to get the girls, the one to stay out late god knows where, coming home reeking of cigarettes and alcohol.

He has a more attractive physique than me, he's tanned, with light stubble around his face giving him an unkempt look and auburn hair that is longer than most boys, reaching his chin but with the same stunning green eyes that I hold. He's got the height too, the tall and muscular frame of our father while I take after my mother with her skin that is as pale as the moon.

The girl next to him lets out a soft snore, pulling her body closer than his. I can't help but be stunned by her beauty. Soft yet defined muscles trace the arm wrapped around my brothers chest and she has a toned figure, light brown skin she seems to glow in the low light. Large eyes are closed with eyelashes that reach out alluringly, thick straight brows angle her face and I can see the gleam of metallic earrings line her ears.

She might be one of the most beautiful woman I have seen. But the fact she is with my brother makes me walk away from her without another glance. I never should of come into his room anyway, if he found out I was in here he would kill me.

I softly click his door closed, dragging small feet over soft carpet I climb back into my king sized bed. I hug my teddy to my chest, wishing I could replace her with another that only seems to understand how I feel inside of my dreams. Somehow, I drift off again and awake to my mother leaning over my bed, pinching my cheek she tells me to get ready for the reaping. She wouldn't want me looking bad for the Capital of course.

The door to my brothers room is wide open and he calls to me as I go past. "Hey squirt" he yells teasingly, his muscular abdomen showing with only a towel wrapped around his waist and his torso glistening from the shower. I just nod at him, it looks like the girl has gone already and I feel grateful I will not have to worry about seeing her across the breakfast table.

Getting into the shower lukewarm water rushes off of my skinny torso, I shower as quickly as possible, not enjoying the look of my naked body or the feeling of the cool water on skin still warmed from the dream and my lovely and soft bed. I towel off quickly, getting my reaping clothes on too quickly they stick to my skin uncomfortably.

Dark suit pants that are slightly too large over dark black boots. A pale white dress shirt that thankfully covers my arms with a charcoal grey suit jacket and tie to match. A crimson vest makes me feel overdressed. Like all I need is a top hat to complete the look. I'm sure my father has one of those lying around somewhere. Or a pair of suspenders to really make this look pop. I chuckle to myself at these thoughts as a bound downstairs, my appetite leading me to the kitchen.

The rest of my family surrounds the kitchen table and I pull up a stool, it grates softly over the wooden floor and my sister looks up at my approach, she looks excited and is practically glowing as she stabs a fork into a pancake over enthusiastically, making it hit against the ceramic plate underneath and creating a noise that has me grinding my teeth together.

I sit down softly grabbing my own pancakes as I look at my brother. He glows for another reason. "Now that you are all here, I have an announcement" my sister says suddenly, her voice rises an octave and causes me to press my hands against my ears as it tumbles around my skull.

"Spit it out" my brother laughs, throwing a berry high into the air he catches it with his teeth effortlessly before chewing it. He sees that I'm looking and smirks, throwing a berry in my direction it hits my nose and plonks into the pancake stack beneath me, causing him to chuckle with laughter good naturedly. "You'll get 'em next time" he tells me. It's easy to be cheerful on a day like today if you do not have the reaping hanging over you, at 19 he no longer needs to worry about his name being called.

I start to shovel pancakes into my mouth, suddenly ravenous I pour sweet tasting liquid over the cakes as fast I can. My father laughs at me from across the table, his deep rumble more like a growl. It's a sound I love. Nothing can go wrong when my dad is laughing. I look back up at him, admiring his large stature and the way he carries himself like he is important. I wish I could be more like my dad.

"Anyways" my sister whines, bringing our attention back to her she seems put out we are not hanging onto her every word. "I'm volunteering today" she announces as she flicks pale blonde hair that replicates mine in colour exactly over her shoulder effortlessly, as if she just told us how her day went.

My eyes shoot up for the second time today and my brother partially chokes on whatever food was in his mouth, I hear glass shatter and look over to my mothers pale face and her hand still cupped where she was holding a glass. My father's mouth hangs open, a forkful of pancake about to enter but not quite making it. In any other situation this would be comical. But not now.

"Why?" My voice is the only one to brave the silence that has gripped our home, my sister has rendered our family speechless. Something that has never happened before. She looks put out by our lack of enthusiasm and starts to talk about how much she's learned in a year forging metal and how when she comes back she will be able to have us live in luxury in the victors village. We practically do already, we are some of the most wealthy residents besides victors inside of the district, and there are so few victors they barely count.

We all jump when the doorbell rings and I shoot up out of my seat to grab it. It's Melanie. "Goodbye" I call politely to my still shocked parents and brother as I close the door between us, walking off as fast as possible from the house I run my tongue over my teeth. I didn't get the chance to bush them. I hope my parents understand that I was kind of distracted. Same for the district dentist that we occasionally visit.

"What happened? You look like you've seen a ghost." Melanie says to me, laughing as she runes tanned hands through my short hair. "A living one" I reply, telling her of my sister's plans she stops in her tracks, eyes wide she is rendered speechless just like us. "Well, are you going to stop her?" She finally asks, her voice turning firey.

"I don't know how I can" I explain. I've already run all the possibilities I can think of in my head and nothing will make my sister listen to her younger, weaker brother. Melanie seems to realise this too and sits next to me. We have all seen what the careers can do. She will have no hope against them. Not when she has no weapon, and no great intelligence. All the victors have something. She simply doesn't.

"Oh, and to make me feel just great I caught my brother with a girl this morning" I explain to Melanie's perked eyes. She laughs at my obvious jealousy, trying to figure out who the girl was neither of us can figure it out. But District Six is the largest one in Panem, it's not surprising we don't know all the older kids. Especially if she has dropped out of school. Bringing the image of her back to my mind I think she most likely has. She has that wild look about her that tells me she hasn't sat in a classroom for years.

"Come on and quit complaining" Melanie tells me, linking fingers with mine she leads me toward our districts huge square for the reaping. Not that square is the right word for it, our actual square is much too small for our districts population so instead the reaping is held in a huge field nearby normally used to dock hovercrafts that need repairs. Publically, a set is placed around us to make the scene more to the Capitols standards, but if you look carefully you can still see the hard packed dirt under our feet not concrete like the surroundings would suggest.

Our actual square is used for special occasions, whippings and victory tours. It's lined with high end stores and the surrounded streets are filled to the brim with mechanics shops. They give you dodgy looks if you hang about too long without any purpose, they don't want teenagers stealing tools and ruining what they have worked for. Not that I blame them, teenagers in Districts Six should be avoided. We are not great people in general.

Today no one gives us funny looks, the shops are boarded up and closed, metal railings hang protecting their interiors as signs promote that they will be open the next day. The only ones that are open are those working on urgent business from the Capitol. I pass one of these shops now, a broad man wealds part of a hovercraft tail, causing sparks to surround him and singe thick arm hairs that too small gloves don't quite cover.

He looks over, waving at us from behind his thick metal visor as he wipes sweat off his forehead. I wave back, acknowledging him, before we round the corner and merge with the masses of kids going into the reaping. Our hands clenched tightly together so we do not lose each other as we all move at a crawling pace toward the entrance. They never have enough peacekeepers for the number of children. They say they will station more peacekeepers every year, but they never do.

Families have to wait and watch from gathering places around the district where massive screens project the reapings live. There are always cameras pointed toward them, ready to capture reactions if their child is reaped. I've always found it funny the mask we put on for the Capitol, pretending it all happens in one place to keep the illusion alive. It's almost comical.

I hiss as my blood is pricked and catalogued, the peacekeeper gives me a dirty look from the noise, clenching my hand a little too tightly before releasing it. I rub my finger with my thumb as I wait for Melanie to join me. She comes out a moment later, a smile on her face at even the grimest occasion. It's not very likely either of us will be picked, not with the sheer number of names in the reaping bowl. Or at least that's what I repeat to myself as we hug goodbye, promising to meet straight after it is finished.

I make my way to the middle of the boys section, sliding quietly next to a boy I don't recognize. Even in the middle I am quite far back from the stage, barely able to see over taller boys heads I instead rely on the large screens on either side that will display our escorts image. I close my eyes for a moment, grounding myself to reality.

I only open them when I hear our escorts heels click clank on the stage as her strange Capitol voice welcomes us to the reaping. She wears a leather tunic which hugs her figure provocatively and crimson lipstick and eyeliner make her look strange. A crimson wig completes the confused look. It's like she couldn't decide if she wanted to be deadly or dieing. With a groan I realise we kind of match with my dark suit and crimson waistcoat.

She plays a video onto the large temporary screen behind her and our Presidents face is plastered on the wall. Bigger than life itself. She thanks our district for the transport and repairs we provide and even names a couple of high up officials like our mayor, the elderly woman practically glows in this praise. As she ends on her line "thank you for your sacrifice" which seems a lot more fitting than the usual motto of the games.

"Let's switch things up a bit" she says chirpily and my heart skips a beat as she places perfectly manicured nails into the boys overflowing bowl. She digs around in it for awhile, savouring her time in the spotlight and how wound up the Capitol residents will be with this long delay before parading back to the large chrome microphone, her hips swaying from side to side like she is hula hooping.

"Jerry Kapper" her voice calls out. After no one moves she calls out again "Jerry Kapper can you please come up dear." It's only the second time she calls that I realise shes talking about me. That's my name. I square my shoulders back, taking a couple of shaky steps those surrounding me depart, like they don't want to risk the contamination of deaths curse that has been placed on me. Only I don't think this will be the end, I'm smart and I can be likeable and brave. All I need is a couple of sponsors to see that… My head is already in the game when she goes over to the girls bowl.

Manicured fingers take too long to pick a girls slip as well and her lips are so close to the microphone she only needs to whisper the name. Adding to the suspense. I quickly make a wish that it won't be my sister. And that she won't have the stupidity to volunteer now I am trapped in the games as well. Funny that. The sibling who wanted it wont get it, and the one who wanted anything but it will. I think I read about a principle similar to it. Maybe Marvins law...

"Esme Layton" her voice calls. I crane my neck out over the sea of kids as I try to figure out who she is. There's slight movement from the 17 year old girls section and slightly taller than average figure starts to walk toward the stage, her steps confident but I can't see her face due to the masses of people surrounding.

"No!" a masculine voice calls gruffly, a boy with messy bronze hair fights his way from the eighteen year olds section, clawing his way to the girl he wraps his arms around her before peacekeepers throw him to the ground. She screams out in panic for him as she is marched to the stage, watching him being beaten bloody in front of her.

My jaw drops open as I get a good look at the girl, though I quickly snap it shut so the cameras don't see. They are too busy capturing her reaction to the boys beating. The girl. She's the same one that I saw in my brothers bed this morning. She looks like she came straight from it with ruffled clothes and a slight glow, a glow that quickly evaporates as she watches the peacekeepers.

She stares with a look of pain on her face as she watches the boy being beaten. Yelling for the them to stop her pleads fall of deaf ears. It's only when one of our five alive victors, Adam Brauer, steps between them that they stop. The boy nods him thanks, pain in his eyes as he looks at the girl as he limps off, collapsing into the arms of a stunning blonde girl who looks too old to be in the reaping pens as tears leak from both of their eyes.

Our escort is practically beaming with the attention she knows this reaping will get. "District 6 I present to you your tributes!" She yells above the whispers that have broken out, spreading like cracks in a mirror one persons talking sets a domino effect for others. She grabs my right hand and the girls as she pulls them toward the sky. "I present to you…. Jerry Keeper and Esme Layton!" She screams into the air. I stare at the district in front of us and their applause, this is a view I never thought I would live to see. Maybe I won't.

"May the odds be ever in their favour!"

 **Authors note: ahaha this chapter just kept on going I had so much fun with these two tributes! Sorry about how long it is but sometimes they kinda just flow and don't stop if that makes any sense.**

 **Thank you all for your continuous support! I loove reading the reviews, due to the high volume of them I'm not responding but please add a note to it if you would like me too. I'll talk to you about tributes, the situation of the reaping or even if you just want a chat I'm down dude.**

 **Also, not to toot my own horn or anything but I loove the line; "** The sharp jab runs smoothly over my tough skin." **Like I'm looking back at that editing and I'm like damn, did I do that?**

 **I'm especially loving knowing who you love/hate in that special little table a lot of you got going so keep up with that, I love you for it.**

 **Anyways that's enough rambling….**

 **As always,**

 **May the odds be ever in your favour….**


	12. The Trees Have Eyes (D7 - REAPING)

**Nirvana Ivanov , 18, District 7.**

I wipe sticky sweat off my tanned forehead with a dirty hand. It only makes it worse. Creating a muddy mess that smears my face I can feel it starting to dry almost instantaneously. Today will be the hottest of the year. I can feel it. It always get like this around reaping time.

"Almost there." A gruff voice calls out to me, exhaustion diluting his usually cherry attitude. We have been at it since long before dawn, the peacekeeper haven't been happy with our quota for the months so are forcing us to work incredibly long hours to make up for it. It's not like we can complain.

My thoughts drift as I pull my axe over my shoulder, swishing it down with a powerful blow it helps to form a large dent that can be seen in the tree on my side. I saw a boy complain once. He asked why we couldn't just use the machines that the older woodcutters operate, they make short work of nature.

But idle hands lead to idle thoughts. The Capitol is deadly afraid of idle thoughts, so they have us work like we have for god knows how long before, with simply our strength and our tools. Again, again, again, the axe swings down toward the tree. Hot sweat trickles down my forehead, I don't bother to wipe it this time. I am getting close.

Blisters pop on callused hands, causing a hiss of pain and a bite of my tongue. I can see the peacekeepers watching us though, no weakness can be shown in front of them. Not unless I want a bullet in the back of a skull like the boy that questioned them.

They have to be strict in this district, more so than others with our athletic builds. I think they are worried we might try something, but the spirit died here long ago. It only takes a walk down our streets to prove it. Cracked and broken our homes are dying from the inside out, wild animals roam the woods we work and its common to hear of other woodcutters getting picked off one by one.

Last week it was a man called Barker, I shared a cider with him at the bar less than a month before it happened. We are famous for our cider here, though the Capitol always gets the best barrels. Apple trees grow in patches between the enormous ones we chop, not as many as the farming districts. But enough that the odd apple goes missing unnoticed and adds a small moment of freshness to a dreary meal.

"Move!" The harsh voice of the man across from me cries out, I joult back to reality with the sound of cracking wood. Sidestepping I watch a piece of nature tumble and die in front of my eyes, we make short work of the branches. Stripping them all off they go into a pile to be made into firewood.

Left with only the trunk a whistle is sent up. Mockingjays that live in a kingdom above our heads carry the cry throughout a canopy. We take this moment as a short break, sitting on the log we pass a small canteen, filled with dirty water collected from a stream on our way up.

I look over to the man next to me. My uncle Albert. He's become a bit of a celebrity in our district, I take after him. His broad shoulder and tanned skin, with long brown hair we both wear long, letting it wrap into braids that have turned into dreadlocks over the years, the same tall build and muddy brown eyes. He's a bit of a heart breaker, I guess you could say I am too.

"Which plants are edible?" My uncle asks me, a knowing tone to it I know he is trying to teach me even on the smallest of breaks. I roll my eyes, sighing. I get up and my shoulders start to ache. "That one." I point to a small chute sticking out of the ground, there are several near each other, waxy stems reaching above the surface of the earth.

"Good" my uncles voice is tired but proud. I know he likes the progress I have made training with him. I would prefer to spend my free time with my friends, crashing out all night and charming the girls of our district. But my uncle insists, it's hard to say no to him.

"Now what's that one-." His voice is cut off by the sound of soft hooves on dried earth and the laughs of other men as they approach. I quickly jump up from where I was crouched over the wild onions, stretching out my arms.

"You called!" A chirpy boy called Jack says, so scrawny you wouldn't realise he packs all the strength he does under his small frame. My eyebrows furrow at the man that travels with him, a lazy grin on his face his hands are no longer calloused from work. Instead they are practically plump from the opposite.

"Ben, good to see you." My uncle says cheerily, slapping the young man on the back with a wide grin on his face. We haven't seen Ben nearly as much as we used to. Not after he won the games with my uncles help and was able to stop working as cheap labour for the Capitol. It's hard not to like him, with his boyish grin and brown curls. But I manage it.

My uncle is the reason he is alive, yet he has shown no gratitude in my eyes. Maybe he gave him some golden coins when he first won, but I don't see Ben saving him from the job that's slowly killing him. Maybe it's the fact my uncle would refuse any of Ben's offers, a humble man he is. But I refuse to believe it. I dislike Ben, and my mind is set.

"I thought I would help out, its a lucky day after all." His booming voice causes the mockingjays around us to fly off to another part of the forest in alarm. Funny that. A tree falling can't get them to move but Ben can. Maybe they sense the danger radiating from him, the death that he has dealt. Whatever the reason I add it to a long list of excuses of why not to like the older boy.

Together we attach the two horses, with dull manes and tails I have watched them age from when I was little, to the log. Once it is done I stand back, smiling, it's always good to know that I have done something productive in a day. Even if it is around those I despise.

'Will you be alright going back with Jack? I want to have a word with Nirvana," Ben's voice is just as booming as it was before and I roll my eyes in annoyance as I see my uncle nod simply, jumping on the back of a horse he rides off slowly with the scrawny man. Once they have passed out of eyeshot Ben looks me over. I scowl up at him. I dislike it when people are taller than me. It seems like a special insult that Ben is.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" I spit out, sarcasm dripping from my tongue like acid. Ben rolls his eyes, used to this treatment he starts our walk directly to the square. I scowl at the back of his feet. I won't have a time to get changed before the reaping. He always thinks he knows best.

"Now, I know we have our differences but please just hear me out." Ben's voice irritates my thoughts like an itch I cannot reach as he stops smack in front of me, turning around so there is only a tiny gap between us and forcing me to look him straight in the eyes. I leap back as if I was given an electric shock by how close our bodies are and he chuckles without humor at my reaction.

His eyes no longer hold the humor that they used to, instead they are the eyes that have been into the games and back. I don't feel any sympathy. He should own being a victor, I know that many boys whisper about it late at night, wondering what it would be like if they were to be the lucky tribute to survive the games.

"You're uncle is the reason me and my sister are still alive. I owe him more than my life." He says, his voice the most sincere I have heard it. I snort. If he was truly sincere he would save my uncle from this trade every day. He gives me a withering look, bringing a muscular arm up he launches toward me in a fighting stance.

I dodge out of the way, his blow barely knocking my shoulder. "I owe it to him to help prepare you. At least let me see what you can do." I don't need a second invitation, bringing my arms up I launch a jab to his jaw. He dodges my blow glancing off his cheek. The momentum of the swing carries me forward and Ben launches a jab under my ribs, causing my body to spasm.

I bite my lip in determination. Blood starts to run on the outside of my face, hitting the hard dirt underneath us it's the first drop of liquid it has had in a month. Ben waits for me to strike, I copy his pose, standing on my toes and moving my body side to side.

I gab forward, my fist connecting lower than he expected, going for his kidneys instead of his face, he collapses to the floor gasping for breath. A smile lights up my face as I stare over his body, a Victor defeated so easily.

Only he's not defeated. He brings his arms up, trapping my leg he pushes his toward me and hits me with a low blow that sends me tumbling to the ground with him. I roar out in pain. "Rule number one, there are no low blows in the arena." He laughs, his smiling face too much for me to take with the pain that stretches to my abdomen.

Fighting through it I push my body on top of his, tension practically radiating off my veins I catch a glimpse of surprise in his eyes before my fist pounds into his nose, causing a satisfying crunch and squirt of blood. The blood hits my arm, racing into my face. I punch again, hitting his cheek with a satisfying click as his head is pounded harder into the earth.

I've dreamed of the day I could do this to Ben. I just never knew I would want it so badly. Using a burst of strength of strength I did not expect in his state his body is suddenly on top of mine, blood flowing from his nose hits my face in warm blotches that make me scrunch up my mouth as it hits my lips.

"Rule number two, don't expect anyone to go down easily." He says, aiming a punch for my ribs it causes me to let out a groan as he rolls off of me. I roll over, gasping for breath as he gets back up as if nothing has happened.

I sigh, I don't want to accept defeat to the older man but know I can't outwit him, while my strength outweighs his he has a precise skill to his that cannot be replicated without studying it. I have never had time for the books, instead preferring to learn by doing. Usually it makes me come out on top.

I hear the marching of heavy boots as peacekeepers march onto the path we had occupied. One look at their victors bloody nose is enough for them to come charging toward me. Grabbing my arms with rough gloves they rip me from the ground and slam my chest against a tree, knocking the wind out of my body and causing me to gasp for breath.

"A little help?" I ask Ben. A sinking feeling devours as he only smirks at me from where the peacekeepers cannot see him. Maybe I shouldn't of broken his nose. _Rule number three._ He mouths to me, _don't expect anyone to fight fair._ With that he jogs off, toward the square and a change of clothes.

My heart beats faster in my chest as I am marched off following his path, the peacekeepers are rough, smashing their battens into my legs and back they drag me, my boots scraping on the dirt and twigs beneath me which turns to gravel and asphalt. The streets are busy today, but the members of the district quickly make way for the peacekeepers. I spit onto the ground, they never showed me this respect.

A batton smashes into the back of my head and I start to see dark spots dotting my vision, these quickly spread and the colours become distorted to only reds and yellows in vague shapes are the blackness takes my vision away. I hope I will pass out. That would make this better. But I don't get the novelty of unconsciousness.

Instead, I feel my shirt being ripped off my body, my hands tied with thick rope in front of me as I am pressed against a cold object dispute the sun. At first the coolness is nice, helping draw the heat of the body out of my bones. I can't tell what is happening around me, the surrounding word sounds muffled, as if underwater, and my breathes are extremely loud in my ears.

But I do feel the pain. The hot pain of the whip as it hits my back, tearing at the skin I hear my cries of pain louder than ever before.

I hear it over and over, long enough for my vision to come back, long enough for me to give up on the sweet relief of unconsciousness. Long enough that cries no longer come from my mouth, instead grunts that don't originate in any one part of my body and sound ferrell.

When it's done the peacekeeper crouches in front of me. A satisfied grimace on his face. "That will teach you to mess with a victor" he chuckles, running a gloved hand over his whip he splatters my face in my own blood.

I smile back at him. I don't regret it one bit.

 **Willow Ashes, 16, District 7.**

"Hey little mouse" I tickle my sister awake, she softly greets consciousness, not yet realising what today means in the innocence of sleep. Maybe it's cruel of me to wake her this early, but I am going to see Marc soon and I can't leave not saying goodbye to my little mouse.

"Good morning" she tells me, though sleep clouds her voice her eyes are already bright and awake. I can't help but smile at the energy she has in youthfulness as I wrap cool arms around her warm body. It's been a tradition of us for as long as I can remember for good morning hugs, the day never feels proper without them.

"You hungry?" I tease, poking a too skinny belly with my thumb she giggles loudly, warming up the dreary house around her with the warmth that radiates from her very being. She's the greatest person I have ever met. She nods forcefully, causing her neck to click and another chorus of giggles at the noise.

My sisters 14, but seems a lot younger most of the time. I prefer her that way, untainted from the capitol she can still be a child. We walk hand in hand toward a small kitchen, wooden floorboards creak below us and my sister jumps from one to the other and back, creating a kind of tune with the different pitches the noises make.

I can't help but laugh at what she has created. She can find interest in anything mundane, it's one of her many gifts. I never inherited it. Though we look very similar. Both with dirty blonde hair and dark brown eyes, a small but muscular build and our families too long nose.

As we walk into the kitchen my parents are there, I nod in respect as I grab a rough loaf of tessare grain bread my mother has baked this morning. Its barely warm, but it's the hottest thing I've eaten in weeks and I savour my piece, picking off tiny bits and placing them one at a time on my tongue, not wanting to forget what it tastes like.

"I'm going to go visit Marc, you stay with mum and dad little mouse." I tell my sister, running a hand through her hair I crunkle it up playfully. She giggles along. "Get changed first. There's an outfit on your bed." My mothers stern voice commands, I nod toward her, walking quickly into my room I sigh at the dress she has left out for me. Green has never been my colour.

"I had a thought" a slightly husky voice tell me, the owner is sitting next to me, a wide smile on his face that freckles dot like little stars. I groan, rolling my eyes, last time he had I thought I ended up with three stitches in my leg that took months to heal. He still beats himself up about that.

"Oh no," is the only thought that utters from my lips as I turn my body away from him. Lying under long grass on the edge of the district fence is our favourite place to be, peacekeepers rarely ever march past. If they do they cant see us through the curtain of grass so leave us alone, this works well for the both of us and is actually a good way of finding out the gossip of the district.

"It's a good one I promise." His voice turns from husky to winey as he shifts his body closer to mine, I can feel his warm breath on the back of my neck and I shift back over, staring directly into his golden eyes there is almost no space between the two of us.

"You should go out with me." His voice is charming and seductive, the same one I used to hear him use on the girls in his year when he didn't think I was listening. I laugh at him, rolling onto my back an idea forms into my mind, growing like a sunrise over the hills and trees of our district.

"Tell you what, if you can beat me up that tree. I'll go out with you." I point to a large tree that is right on the edge of the fense, it towers above us, giving us shade from the extremely hot day and blocking the fence and guard tower from our view. His eyes light up in anticipation as he jumps up from the grass, sprinting over to the tree he uses brute force to muscle his way up.

My laugh is picked up by the mockingjays as I move gracefully toward the slightly smaller tree next to it, carefully balancing on each limb I keep three points of contact to the tree at all times, feeling the rough bark under smooth hands I get up as high as possible, graceful as a squirrel as a scurry up.

Marc is more like a bear, using brute force he does not plan movements. I have overtaken him, poking my tongue I leap off one of the branches on my tree, it tilts downward alarmingly but before I know it I have no ground below me. I am weightless.

Before I land on a branch of Marc's tree, my arms hooking around it I swing a leg over, pivoting my body until I am sitting on the branch. I scurry up a few more branches, leaves are thicker now and scrape sharply against my pale skin.

Eventually, they get too thin to continue. I look down at Marc, he's stuck at the branch I lept on. Looking confused and sadly up at me. "Beat you again!" I call down, he turns his face into a mask of annoyance as he grins good naturedly up at me. Pulling me a thumbs up he starts to make his way carefully back down. I follow him gracefully, swinging from one branch to the next I cause leaves to be disturbed and fall all over his back.

We are wearing our best clothes today. It is the day of the reaping. I try to push the fear of it out of my mind, instead focusing on how many other slips are in the large glass bowl and how unlikely it is for me to be called. I guess if I am it is bad luck. Or maybe fate.

"You ready to head out?" He asks me, as if sensing my thoughts. I sigh, looking up at the way the sun sivers in gaps through the treetops I realise it is time to get moving. The peacekeepers in our district are always itching to dish out lashings, it does not take much at all to end up on one of the many whipping posts around the town.

I nod, walking next to him we take the familiar path in silence. Both lost in our own thoughts of what today could change. Five years ago it was Marc's bestfriend Tommy that got reaped, I know he still feels the pain of the loss, even if he will never admit it.

Everyone knows everyone around here, no matter how many people there are. Every year it hurts our district, and every year we are worn out that much damn more by the Capitol. As we walk toward the square we turn from grass to forest floor to hard packed earth. We don't have anything fancy here, occasionally there is gravel, usually around peacekeepers.

We make do with what we have. We don't need much. When a rough eyed peacekeeper pricks my finger with more force necessary to draw my blood I barely feel it, my mind working a million miles an hour my eyes are unfocused on the surrounding world. Instead, I walk numbly over to the girls section.

An arm catches mine and I look back into Marc's desperate eyes. "Don't go getting reaped today." He tells me, planting kiss on my cheek so soft I barely feel its tickle before waltzing off to the boys section. He's right up the front today. My heart worries at the amount of slips in that bowl of his. But I have slips of my own.

I have just fallen into row with a girl who I barely know when our escort walks onto a concrete stage. My eyes rake the girls heads, trying to find my sisters. But I can't, I know she's safe, as long as shes not reaped. Our escort juxtaposes the drap concrete, her dress a blue that hurts the eyes with geometric shapes jutting out from all direction and white frills on the front. Her hair is an inverted cone on her head, reaching up it tries to touch the sky and she wears shoes with heels longer than I have ever seen before. I roll my eyes. The things these people will do for just a little attention.

I watch with slight interest as I video is played out to our district, it shows our dear president thanking us for the lumbor and labour we provide with sadness in her voice. She sounds sinceer when she ends with "thank you for your sacrifice." I like this new phrase she has made popular, it seems to show the grief we go through more. The odds are never in the districts favour. Not once. Not ever.

Our escort walks promptly toward the girls bowl, delicately going for a single slip in particular she walks back slowly to the brass microphone. Taking joy in the fear of a district who all halt their breaths until the name is said. I send up a silent prayer that it's not my sister. Not my sister who is so pure, so sweet, and oh so young.

The escort lips her lips and I feel a cold sweat breaking out down my back, suddenly the world is too bright. I have a bad feeling. As our escort opens the little piece of paper up my heart clenches in on itself further than it ever has before. I have an extremely bad feeling. In almost slow motion her eyes read the slip, before she opens her lips to the microphone.

"Willow Ashes" she calls out. I was wrong, it wasn't a bad feeling. It was the worst one imanagable. At least it wasn't my sister, I think grimly. That thoughts carries me up the hard packed dirt and onto the stage, the thought makes me almost not revulsed to grasp a hand belonging to the Capitol. She has a sickly perfume on that makes me feel dizzy, but I don't let it show.

"And now for the boys" her voice echoes from this close and the grin on her face makes me want to punch her. She has just sentenced me to death. And another boy she is about to call. She draws this out too, this time rummaging through the slips as if trying to find a specific one. She lets out a gasp as she grabs one. Rushing back to the microphone in excitement she reads out "Nirvana Ivanov."

A cry of pain is uttered from behind me and I look over to see one of our victors with a pained expression on his face. My eyes scan the crowd, looking for the boy. There's movement in the eighteen year olds section as the boy grimaces in pain as he makes his way slowly toward the stage, peacekeepers help him up the stairs and I wonder what has happened to him. The way the peacekeepers chuckle makes me think he has upset them. It's practically a death sentence to upset them here, then again so are the games.

His handsome face smiles despite the pain and he grasps my hand with force when we are told to shake. His large muscles tell me he must be a lumberjack. They make good allies. "Ladies and gentlemen I present you this year's tributes, Willow Ashes and Nirvana Ivanov!" Our escorts voice squeaks around the square as the applause of our district fills our ears. Many would find pride in this position.

Looking toward the crowd my eyes catch my sisters, hers swim with tears and I feel a pang of guilt that I will be abandoning her. Probably for the rest of my life. I smile gently toward her, she attempts to smile back. I hope this is not goodbye. But it feels so damn final.

 **Author's note: Sorry if this chapter is not as polished as usual…. Or even that good for the matter. I'm up at midnight trying to finish it for upload tomorrow morning (I always upload chapters before school) super tired with a statistics assessment later today.**

 **But anyways, let me know what you think of these two!**

 **I'm going away for a week next week so sorry I dont think there will be any updates, I might try to get one ready and have one come out the day after today but can't promise anything with how busy I am at the moment.**

 **But I refuse to break schedule so we will have to see how this goes down, hope you all enjoyed reading, let me know what you think!**

 **And,**

 **may the odds be ever in your favour...**


	13. Love (D8 - REAPING)

**Weft Loomis, 15, District 8.**

The house is empty when I wake, sprawling my body out on a lumpy straw mattress I inhale the scent of dust, it tickles its way up my nose, causing me to erupt into a sneezing fit. When the sneezes pass, like every morning, I run a hand through hair that is too shaggy. It needs a cut.

I force myself into a sitting position, feeling aches and pains in my joints. Yesterday, I was called to help at the factory. We aren't supposed to so young, but some jobs they need skinny bodies for, you can't say no without a bullet to the back.

I was worked from dawn to dark, crawling through pipes that burned my skin trying to find a pipe that had become pierced, eventually it was found, hot steam blasting into my face as I applied a patch to it made of some kind of clingy metal that felt like clay in my hands but latched onto the pipe with the force of slingshot released.

I went home hungry and unpaid, but at least I was alive. I've heard rumors of kids shot by the peacekeepers for failing their jobs. My brothers and father came home even later, trying not to wake me they complained about the dangers of the factory. And how the hours had become almost too terrible to manage.

It's hard these days, we used to not have to worry. But since the rations increase more people have been dropping out work at the factories. Instead, taking up other positions inside of the district now they do not have to worry quite as much. It makes their lives better, but people like mine who are tied into the factory worse.

A woman my oldest brother wanted to marry had her arm ripped off by one of the machines a few months back, she died when the peacekeepers refused to get a doctor. Apparently, one of the mayors sons was sick with a head cold so the doctor was seeing a more important patient. They made her stick her arm into the malfunctioning machine, they knew the risk. We aren't people to them.

My oldest brother has not been the same since, he's quiet, fury plain on his face and in his eyes. We have to be careful with him now, if he says the wrong thing in public he could easily join her. I hope I dont turn into him. But I've seen what this District can do.

I stumble into a dirty bathroom, digging sleep out of the corner of my eyes. I pull a stool from the far wall, staring at my reflection inside of a cracked mirror. I don't look like my mother. I wish I did. Another casualty of the factories.

As I get slightly blunt scissors I start chopping pieces of my hair off, thinking of my mother. I don't remember her very much, I was only six when she died. Vague recollections of a beautiful smile, being carried in a woman's arms and being sung sad songs to sleep buzz around my thoughts, but nothing concrete, nothing with any substance to grab onto.

Ginger hair falls onto my torso and the dirty floor, I can't help but wish it was brown, like my sister and mother. 11 years. 11 years ago my sister was killed. Only two years before my mother. I'm told my mother never really recovered in that period between my sisters death and her own. Maybe that's where the sad songs came from, she lost her only daughter. Some even say the accident that killed her was self sacrifice. I don't believe this. I don't want to believe this.

My sister had it worse, she was glorified by the Capitol. Spent a week being dressed up like a doll, then only moments in the arena that lead to her death. She was 13. She didn't deserve that. She would be 24 now, we always celebrate her birthday. My eldest sibling. I can't remember her at all, but videos of her death are played often enough for me to have her face forever immortalised behind my eyelids.

My hand slips and I hiss as the scissors connect with my head, rubbing the spot I feel a small sliver of blood run from my forehead. I drop the scissors back down into a sink that was once white, washing the no longer connected hair from my head. I shiver from the feel of the cool water and the metallic taste it has as it runs into my mouth.

With my brothers and father gone, presumably early morning work, I take my time getting ready. They might even be exempt from the reaping, Heddle will be there, at 18, but the rest are too old to care. I hope my father gets to stay away, it brings too many memories of a daughter lost. My older brothers too. They knew their sister.

Holding a dirty cloth to my head, I pull clothes out of a wardrobe that stands on bricks. I am able to dress better than you would expect, my grandfather was a powerful man, though no one quite knows why. He made sure to leave us with some proper clothes. I can't remember what he looks like anymore, he died the year I was born. But I know he still looks over me.

I dress quickly, not wanting to expose my skinny frame for longer than necessary. I wish I looked different, or had some of the muscles my father and brothers seem to. I think it's one of those things that comes with age, I can't wait to grow up.

A green shirt the colour of the the treeline, black dress pants that are slightly baggy over my skinny legs. An immaculate golden jacket that is tight on the cuffs and dark shoes made of real leather. I can't help but smirk at my reflection, I look good.

I lock the house and hide the slightly off colour key under a pot on the front step, the plant that used to live there has long died. But the secret hiding place has not. My feet hit the paving stones at an increased pace as I spot the familiar tangled hair of my best friend.

I charge at him, wrapping my arms around his I hear him yell out in surprise, stumbling over his own feet he pulls both of us to the ground. I wince as my palms are scraped bloody by the stones, but laughter replaces it a moment later with the surprised expression on Weavers face. His little sister laughs echo mine.

His expression is a perfect mixture of shock and humor and I notice how close our bodies are, I'm basically on top of him. Staring into sky blue my expression softens, I wait for a moment longer than I should, before forcing my body away from his. He looks slightly disappointed for a moment, before pulling himself to his feet.

"Got you good." I tease him, he sighed exasperatedly. "Only you would do this on the reaping." He teases, looking sadly down at my skinned palms for a minute I wipe the blood onto my dark pants. The stains won't be noticeable. "Let's get to the square." I announce, his sister squeals in agreement, too young to understand what the reaping means she looks pristine in a baby blue dress.

Weaver only nods in agreement and I feel terror in my chest, I cannot get reaped, I will die like my sister. But it would be worse if Weaver were to be reaped.

 **Violet Mercury, 14, District 8.**

Dirty blonde hair falls to my chest in wet clumps as I brush it out, shivering from the coolness of the only shower in our home. I sit on a soft bed, a duvet made of bird feathers clumps around my body, trying to warm up the wetness.

I hum a tune to myself, remembering it from the television and the clips they have been playing to get the Capital excited for this years agames. The shift of thoughts makes my heart clench inside of my chest and my breath to quicken. The games scares me more than anything else.

I grasp onto the soft duvet, needing something to remind me of reality before the thoughts take over my mind and drown me. I bite my lip. The thoughts press against my head like an expanding balloon. The games will kill everyone I love. I bite my lip harder. You will die in them today. I pierce the skin, blood starts to trickle down my cheek.

A bubble of lukewarm laughter comes out of me. You either laugh or you cry. A tear falls down my cheek. Somedays you do both. I shake out my limps, first my feet then my legs slowly I shake my whole body. Needing to feel it move again, needing to remind myself that I am alive and for the moment nothing will change that.

After a few moments of this I sit up and pull a frilly dress over my underclothes. Its violet. Another bubble of laughter escapes my lips, a violet dress for a girl called Violet. How fitting, I got the dress as a present for my 14th birthday. I loved it to bits, till I realised its purpose. Its to make me look good if I am chosen. If I am chosen to die.

I slip pale flats over my feet as I walk out of my bedroom, the door clicks shut forebodingly and a shiver goes through my body. I may never see my room again. I force that thought out of my mind by digging my nails into my palms. Over the top of scars that will never heal. Walking into our lounge I spot my parents sitting across from each other, they have mugs of tea in their hands and smiles on their lips.

I smile back at them, grabbing a cup of steaming hot liquid I notice there is fresh bread and butter. A treat. I slather up a couple of rough slices and place them on pristine plate before going back to my parents, sipping on the hot liquid trapped inside of a chipped blue mug.

"You look beautiful." My father tells me with pride eyes. My mouth lights up into a smile as I know what he says is true. "Stunning." My mother says in agreement, she places a rough hand on mine and squeezes. Tears threaten my eyes today at the love they give me. I know they wanted more children, but maybe there was a reason they only ended up with one. They seem to think so.

I eat my breakfast in silence, I am used to letting my parents talk. I listen as they talk in soft voices about the weather and their jobs, my father is a well respected tailor and has many admirers in the Capitol. My mother is a designer, she makes clothes only the rich can afford. I absentmindedly twirl the soft fabric of my dress at this thought, she spent months designing it herself.

A knock at the door causes me to jump just as the last of my bread enters my mouth, I cough suddenly, trying not to choke. My father gets up quietly, marching over to the door he opens it to reveal the boy who has stolen my heart. Jumping up from my seat I wrap pale hands around his waist.

"It's time already?" I ask sadly, the reaping has crept up on my soft moments with my family. This could be the last meal we share together, it's a morbid thought. But the reaping makes you think lots of morbid things. "If we want good places we better leave soon." He jokes, but the humor does not reach his eyes. We will be placed at near the back, just like our first year, but will get a little closer each year. Like a reward for attendance. Each year we get a better view of who is chosen.

"Give me two minutes." I tell him, rushing toward a pristine bathroom I brush my teeth quickly, but make sure to be through. We do not have the money for a dentist, extremely few do. The last thing I need is an infection stemming from a cavity.

When I appear again I see my father shaking Jaspers hand. I can't hear what was just said but the smile on both of their faces makes me know it went well. I was so scared when I first introduced Jasper to my family, but him and my father got along like two dogs to a bone. My mother just wanted to see me happy. Whatever form that took.

I link arms with him and we walk toward the square together, he guides me with his strong presence. Hes muscular, wearing all black he looks intimidating with his stern look to those who do not know him. He knows almost everyone though, they all know him, and in turn they know me. I still don't remember all of their names.

But I can't help but feel a pang of jealousy as two girls run up to us just as we turn the corner to the square, they push past me, placing lips to Jaspers cheeks they wish him good luck, he smiles back and squeezes hands. He must notice the slight crinkle between my eyebrows, a familiar friend after encounters like this as he stops us in the middle of the path. People bump into us either side as his pale eyes meet my dark ones.

"Everything is going to be okay/" He tells me in a sombre voice, playing his lips to my hand softly they brush my skin, leaving goosebumps in their wakes. "Do you promise? I ask him, my voice on the verge of tears. A look of indecision crosses his face, Jasper prides himself on keeping his promises, he will never break one in his life. It's the kind of person he is.

"I promise I'll never leave you." He says instead, I pretend I did not notice him dodging the question. The soft caress of his lips on mine is almost enough to calm the pounding of my increased heart rate, almost.

Eventually, we break away. Linking hands as peacekeepers take our blood samples, a red dot on light paper. With a tight squeeze we break away to our gender specific areas, I don't take my eyes off of him. He keeps his locked with my own.

My eyes only leave his when our escort steps onto stage. He is an exceptionally tall man, in a silver suit that makes my eyes hurt and large heels on his feet I am surprised he can walk in so elegantly. Bright purple eyeliner surrounds crimson eyes and his head has been shaved and polished so it looks like it could be a mirror. I have to stifle a chuckle at his bizarre appearance. He's obviously trying to catch the attention of the Capitol.

"Welcome….Welcome." He stammers in a high pitched voice that reminds me of the fans that spew hot air out behind the factories. My eyes meet Jaspers from across a mass of people and we laugh silently at the ridiculous accent. Everything must be okay in moments like this, it is impossible for it not to be.

Our escort plays a video straight from the Capitol and our Presidents face is plastered over a pale wall of a building across from the square. She looks soft, with slightly smudged makeup as she thanks our district for our designers and textile production. "Thank you for your sacrifice." She tells us with her morbid final stansar, before the video cuts off.

My eyes return to the stage with the clinking of heels over toward the girls bowl. My hands spasm in fear and dig back into my palms, I bite my lip. Not fully healed from this morning it starts to bleed again. My heartbeat booms in my chest and I feel my hands start to shake. My body feels cold, and I feel a trail of sweat leak down my forehead.

His walk back to the microphone seems to take an eternity and my eyes desperately search for Jaspers. "I promise." He mouths to me, sending waves of relief throughout my body. That is until the escort reads out the name.

"Violet Mercury."

My name sounds foreign in his voice with the strange accent that has never said it before, but I know it is mine. The name belongs to me. Icy calm goes through my veins as I walk to the stage, all I can hear in my ears is my heartbeat and I can feel my legs trembling. I can't make them stop. Oh, god why wont they stop?

Only when I'm on the stage facing my district do I see Jasper again, tears running down his cheeks he yells out to me. I see his lips moving but cannot hear a sound over my breathing, I can hear nothing else. My body is cold again, as if in an ice bath despite the sun currently shining directly onto me.

Our escort seems to walk toward the boys bowl in slow motion before picking a slip. My partner. He lets out a soft smile as he reads a name I can barely hear, despite the booming microphone. "Weft Loomis" he calls. My heart sinks, I know this boy.

I watch as he makes his way to the stage, dressed up for the occasion. I don't know him that well, he's in my year at school but keeps mostly to himself and a small group of friends. Jasper knows him though, Jasper knows everyone. He looks sadly at me as I look toward my feet, refusing to meet the eyes of the boy doomed next to me. At least it's not Jasper. Better me than Jasper.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you your tributes, Violet Mercury and Weft Loomis!" My name already sounds more at home in the Capitol tone and I realise I will be going to its home soon. I shake Weft's hand with a sweaty palm and he smiles softly. I wish I could return it, but my thoughts are already spiraling out of control. I am going to die.

My eyes lock onto Jaspers and I see my own fear and grief as if in a mirror. I am so sorry Jasper, so sorry I am causing you this pain. "May the odds be ever in your favour." Our escorts voice rings out. They are surely not in mine.

 **Authors note: Remember when I said I didn't want to break schedule? Well this is why. I had the most amazing week of my life away so when I got back I apologise for falling into a bit of a slump. I've also been a bit distracted with finding my own romeo at the moment and things are looking good guys!**

 **Apologies if this chapter is not quite up to standard, I'm having to get back into the habit but I've been putting this story off too much.**

 **I hope you have not forgotten me!**

 **Make sure to leave a review/feedback if you remember who I am and what I do.**

 **May the odds be ever in your favour...**


	14. A Silver Band (D9 - REAPING)

I spit in the harsh gravel underneath my feet, it has a warm coating of dust on top that makes sure to penetrate the noses of those standing near it. It has always been this way, but I can't help and roll my eyes at the way it does so today as well. It's not making a big fuss about the reaping.

My mother rushed around the home, fussing over my sprawling brown hair and threatened to smack me if I didn't wear the outfit she had chosen. I glance down, annoyed at the wrinkled button up shirt tucked into high waisted dark pants. Dark suspenders hold the outfit up and make me look like a _proper boy_ like my mother would tell me.

My father didn't comment.

I'm not the son he wants, but I am what he's got. My shoulders are not broad like his, nor are my hands calloused from work. When he suggested I pick up work in the fields once I could no longer afford to go to school I practically ran from him. His all work and no play mentality, while not lost on me, takes on a form of its own kind.

Instead, I spend hours locked inside my room, I work in one of the harvesting factories, I sweep the floors and count that the correct amount of grain has been collected. It is a simple job, but I meet interesting people from it. When I come home is when I feel truly at peace, like I am floating on a calm sea.

Not that I've ever seen the sea before.

Ony in the arena.

I spend hours in my room, drawing pictures of everything I can find in this place. Some are simple, the look of a leaf in the light. Other's, are intricate portraits of those who I work with at the factory. Sometimes, they hold harsh and jagged lines if the person has upset me, sometimes teardrops dot the page of a memorial piece of someone who I used to know and whos image will soon fade out of my memory. Sometimes they are filled with soft lines and gentle shading.

I turn sharply left, the dirt blowing up around my face and causing me to cough slightly. A barrage of sneezes quickly follow and I curse my breath. I hastily glance over my shoulder, making sure that no one has noticed I am not following the path most of the children take, off to see two others sentenced to death. I will have to join them soon.

Instead, the dirt under my feet turns to harsh concrete and broken glass as I climb up an abandoned buildings staircase. I run a hand over crumpling faded bricks the colour of diluted sunsets and let a rare smile lights up my face. I feel my skin pulled tight over protruding cheekbones and wiggle arching eyebrows.

A figure appears up ahead and my heart contorts with a soft feeling, like baby animals were playing a game of chase. I rush quickly, placing tanned hands over a muscular chest I bury my face into their neck, planting kisses on a harsh collarbone I notice him jump in shock, and then relax into my grip.

"You're late." Barrick chides in a voice slightly raspy. My noise catches the scent of ash and smoke and I realise he has had a cigarette. I only let myself feel slightly annoyed that he did not share with me.

"Call it traffic." I tease back, gazing into his cool blue eyes I suck his warm breath into my body, it wraps my lungs in a hot buzz better than any drug and I smile into the eyes of someone I know that I can trust. I watch his eyes turn cloudy as he looks me over.

I feel insecure in his gaze. I still can't believe he has chosen to be with me, a younger boy. When he has so many girls swooning over him in the district. I shudder as his fingers which are light as butterflies trace my arm. They leave goosebumps in their wake and leave me feeling hot and tingly at the same time.

"You're not going to get reaped okay?" I can't tell whether he is asking me a question or telling me a statement so I nod along to Barricks words.

"Trust me." I tell him with a simple smile. I can sense the jade in my green eyes flashing. I try not to lie to Barrick, but its hard. I have had a bad feeling about today since the moment I woke up, a permanent wrinkle in my stomach, constricting me and making my breaths shallow, but I can breathe again around Barrick. He is safety.

"There's something I have to tell you." He says, his voice slightly higher than usual. I look up sharpley, alarmed at the change in his tone. It's the tone his voice took on when he told me that his father has almost caught us, the tone when he told me his older sister was once reaped for the games. This is the voice that haunts my nightmares, tears swim in my vision in anticipation for what he is going to say. I knew it, there's no real reason for him to choose to be with me, he'll dump me and leave me to my thoughts and my scars. A single tear drips down my eyelid, carving a path down tanned skin it cleans off dust that has settled.

"Don't do that." He mumbles, taking a dark hand he wipes the tear softley from my face, pressing his lips gently against my forehead they burn in our contact. I listen to him clear his throat gravelly, practically swallowing my tongue I am poised in anticipation for what he is going to say.

I feel his left hand grasping for mine and I place my palm to his, lending some of my strength to the stronger man I feel us connect in a way that is too powerful to put to words. He takes a shaky breath, my stomach flips and turns like some of the young boys I once saw playing on the school yard.

"I'm getting married."

A laugh bubbles in my throat, quickly filling my mouth it rushes out like water from one of the dirty taps in my home. The laughter turns into hysterics, I sound like a boy in the games last year when he was being hunted by the career pack. The laughter echos maliciously off the hard brick walls of the building and the harsh concrete floors.

Barrick looks at me with fear in his eyes, grasping onto my body that tries to pull away I practically shake with the emotions I feel. I feel more tears stream down my vision, turning Barrick from a handsome face into a smudge of dark colour, only a flash of blue from his shirt can be seen.

"Cole?" He asks, his voice a tad nervous.

"Marred!" I crow, pushing my body into his I use him to help support my weight, my legs no longer seem to be able to work. He's getting married, the thought doesn't want to settle in my mind, instead it echos around my skull like my laughter on the walls. Never able to settle it bounces back harsher than it started.

He takes a deep breath and I feel his body shake as it is connected to mine. "I'm supposed to marry a girl called Maisie, her father owns the factory up the road, rich fellow." He notes, his head bobbing slightly in recognition. I know the girl, shes got a bit of a reputation for being one of a looker. I can picture her now, her fair hair glowing like the maze that grows in our fields, soft skin that hasn't had to work a day in her life and owl like eyes.

Barrick laughs softly, looking down at his hand I see a delicate silver band clasped half in his palm. "I'm supposed to get down on one knee after this reaping, as we will both be finally safe, I'm supposed to be a real gentleman." He smirks at this, as if imaging the future that will soon be his. I picture that, they will have beautiful babies together. The thought stabs a pain in my heart that is almost impossibly strong.

"I don't want that." He tells me, his voice firm and filled with determination. His eyes burn in a way I have never seen them before, it makes my heartbeat accelerate with his. This older boy who I have somehow connected with in an impossible way, we were never supposed to be bonded this way. Reality is an impossibility.

I watch as he ruins the crisp look of his dark pants as he kneels on the concrete beneath us. He chuckles "I guess there's no time to check with your father." He mumers out before squeezing our still clasped hands.

"I know we are young, and I know the district will never accept us. But I'm not marrying Maisie. I want to marry you. I, Barrick Funar would like to ask you, Cole Rockweld, if you would do the honor of being my husband." Tears swim in my vision for another reason completely, I break down. They run hotley over my blotchy cheeks.

"Of course." I stammer out, through the tears of youthfulness and a future I could never imagine. He gets up and places the ring over my finger, somehow it fits and he laughs at the perfection of the moment, sunlight filters through cloudy windows, bathing the both of us in a golden haze.

His eyes connect to mine and a thousand messages are spoken in a single gaze. I have to remove mine from his so I don't spill every secret I have going through my mind. It's so hard not to when I'm around him. It's as if he eases safety.

Before I know it he's kissing me. Kissing me like we have never kissed before and we'll never kiss again, because we may not. Those thoughts are best left out of times like this but a nagging voice at the back of my head that sounds oddly like my father reminds me that Barrick may never kiss me again if today plays out like my stomach is telling me like it will. The happiest day of my life may turn into the worst.

With this thought I realize I'll never have enough. Never have enough of the feeling of his lips pressed hotly onto mine, of the way our eyelashes touch as close eyes make our surroundings disappear. Of the musky smell of his body pressed up against mine which smells like grain and an unforgiving home.

I feel his fingers trace my back, lightley at first they press harder as they make their way clawing up my neck and messing up my already wrinkled hair. His fingers trace back down my body and soon they are everywhere at once, lighting me up into a haze of warmth emanating from the sun that is his body I try to melt into him. Surely life would be better if we could stay merged as one forever.

Suddenly he's kissing me harder, deeper, with an urgency I have never known for him to possess of know. But I understand it, I understand it and my body aches underneath his because this is what the reaping does to us. The reaping would make the most calm man turn to edge and the youth to realise how precious life is and how it can be taken so cruelly from you at any moment.

So, I push back into him. Just as hard and with just as much urgency, because I don't know how long I have left. How long my boots will walk on harsh concrete or how long my noose will be tickled by dry dirt. If I am reaped I will be able to count on my hands the number of sneezes I can usher and there will be no more of these kisses.

So I let myself melt into Barracks sun.

 **Kalista Stone, 17, District 9.**

My dark skin seems to glimmer in the soft candle light of my house. I don't like getting ready when the others are around, it just feels like an intimate moment lost. I slip into a reaping outfit, it's something I know I will get attention from.

Dark fishnet leggings cross my skin, leading to shorts that are so light in colour they contradict the dark tones. Shoes with the highest lacings I can find go overtop, they are worn right out so my big toe can be seen poking out the front. I don't mind. It just shows that I get use out of them, they are my only pair after all.

A black hoodie I cropped myself covers my chest, cutting off just above the belly button it shows off a tanned and muscular stomach. I know it makes me look good. I roll its sleeves up to my elbows, already the heat of the day is starting to show itself. It's a wet heat, promising thunderstorms tonight.

I like the thunderstorms, of hearing the rain pummel down on the tin roof that protects us from the elements outside our home. I like the flash of lightening the lights up my room whenever it strikes. I can picture myself watching the bolts collide on the dark sky outside, I can stay up late tonight watching it, my present to myself for not getting reaped.

I shake my head to let the daydream go, my eyes trail the tattoo that sits perched on my shoulder, the dark outline of a rose. I got it as a way to commemorate my father, killed too young, he will forever be apart of me in this way. It makes me proud to be able to display a symbol of him on my body, it makes me feel slightly less alone.

My ears glint metallically as studs run up their edges, the occasional scar is seen hiding behind the metal from botched home jobs. It also glints from my most painful piercing, a septum in my nose I got it for the attention it would create. I like how it glints in the light, though it's a bitch when I need to sneeze. It never healed quite right, instead the occasional painful joult will go from my nose like a lightning strike into the rest of my body. I don't mind the pain, no good thing is achieved without pain. Weather it is physically or mentally I don't mind. The pain reminds me that I am alive and breathing, not everyone else can say the same thing. So, I cherish every moment I can feel it. A constant reminder of mortality.

Silently, I slip out of my home. Only stopping to grab a smooth loaf of bread from the kitchen I eat it as I walk dusty streets, I have one destination in my mind. I let my mind wander as I walk towards a home, the route is engraved into my mind from years of tracing the same route.

I wonder who will be the unlucky tributes reaped for the games this year, I hope it's someone that deserves it, as cruel as it sounds. It's never the bullies that get chosen, always the quiet malnourished kids with no chance. We have few mentors in this district, only a handful to help guide our tributes home. Even now their eyes sag at the prospect of preparing new kids for the slaughter.

I see a shadow following me, in the hazy morning light it does not seem intimidating, on a whim I slow down to see who it is. My heart lights up when I notice the familiar shoulder length dirty blonde hair of my best friend Bonnie Cide I stop and wait for her to catch up, she greets me with a radiant smile and we link hands without thinking about it.

"Heading to Ryder's?" She asks me, a teasing note to her voice.

"You know it." I reply with a wink of my own, on a whim I lean in and kiss her cheek. She smiles back, we may just be friends but it's always nice to be close to someone. We both feel strongest with physical contact so that often spills into our friendship platonically, Ryder rolls his eyes at us, but it's never affected our friendship, it only makes us stronger.

We arrive outside Ryder's house. Usually it takes a wack to get me out of bed in the mornings but not today. Today we all are awake and alert, the reaping changes people in different ways. I have seen some go insane, others curl into themselves, it just makes me fight stronger, it reminds me not to waste the opportunity I have been given to live. I'm not religious, but every time it's not my name that's chosen I let out a sigh of relief and thank god.

The front door will be locked at this hour so we trace practiced steps out the back, placing feet into warn down branches we climb a large tree adjacent to the house, a small leap that makes butterflies soar in my stomach every time and a soft thump. I am on the balcony outside of Ryders room.

I rap softy on a dirty glass door as I feel the wooden floor of the balcony give a slight wobble as Bonnie lands next to me. I give her a quick squeeze of encouragement as I see light curtains draw from inside of the window. Soon I am looking into the puppylike eyes of Ryder. He opens the door, ushering for us to come inside I give him a quick hug.

Inside his room faded couches face each other on top of a dark rug. Lincoln sits sprawled out on top of one of the couches, a spring pokes lazily out from it beside his elbow and he smiles a crooked grin at us, we smile back.

I lie myself down on the cool wooden floor, it creaks beneath me as Lincoln throws a pillow at my head, I catch it easily, placing it under my own I look up teasingly at the boy with dusty brown hair.

Ryder walks over to him, throwing his body upward he lands ntop of Lincoln with a soft thud, the other boy groans and they are soon lost in a tangle of limbs. Vague mutters can be heard from the pile and I laugh softly at the annoyed expression on Lincoln's face and the amused one on Ryders. The laugh turns into a sigh as I watch the two boys kiss softly, caught up in their own bubble of happiness I long for it myself.

Looking over to Bonnie I see that she feels the same way, as much as we like to tease them I know that both of us are just waiting to find the one for us. Instead of letting them know how I feel I simply say "get a room."

They grumble at this, with another kiss they lean into each other, watching us two girls with a look of amusement. Those two are too happy to be real. "Look in the draw besides my bed for a surprise." Ryder says softly, his voice slightly muffled by Lincoln's chest which lies on top of him, I cautiously lean a hand over.

Opening a faded wooden draw with a chipped handle my eyes light up at the clear bottle that meets my grasp. I pop the top off the bottle quickly, my nose wrinkles at the sharp scent of alcohol that greets it. My expression quickly turns into a smile as I take a gulp of the liquid, it tastes of liquid fire and my hand brushes softly against Bonnies as I pass the bottle over to her. She smiles gratefully, taking the bottle to her lips that I know too well she gulps it down gracefully.

"So, are we doing this?" Lincoln asks, his voice sounds slightly strained and the fun attitude that usually encapses our group seems to evaporate. The day that today is really hits home. It's a funny ritual our group created before our first reaping. It sounds morbid, but we bet on who we think will be the kids reaped for this years games.

Bonnie grabs pieces of thick creamy paper from on the table beside her and passes them across to us as well as rough pencils, mine is blunt so the led is slightly smudged as it meets the page, but that does not matter, a name just has to be written.

For the boy I put the name of an older boy, its his last year in the reaping. He's in the year above me, there's no real reason why I write his name, but something just feels right about it. Like it will be him or someone close to him.

 _Barrick Rathbone_ I write, the pencil shakes under my fingers. I know it is not my decision that sends these kids to their death, but it's a morbid feeling to write others names down. A couple years ago the boy whose name I wrote was picked at the feeling in my stomach was that of the plug being pulled out of a bathtub, an almost infinite sinking. It took a lot of liquor that night to get me out of my mind.

My hand tremors as I go to write a girls name, but the boy from two years ago swirls around my mind, his image is on my eyelids as I close them, my heart beats faster and faster in my chest. He was my age. It was not my fault. He died in the bloodbath. It was not my fault. He had a sister and a mother. It was not my fault.

With my eyes still picturing his face I write the name of a girl down on the paper shakily, the led is placed so light it is barely readable. But I do, and I stare down at my own name. The others won't know, we made a pact not to share the names till after the reaping as a good luck way, our own names are never written down by others. I have broken an unspoken rule.

I raise my heads to see the others raising their papers too and we chuck them all in a metal bowl together they connect, our faces are sollum as four lighters are passed around to us. Limbs are untangelled as pencils are passed back and my vision turns dark around the edges as we all light up, playing our flames to separate corners of paper we watch as the sheets come to life in front of us.

My hand finds Bonnies and hers finds Lincolns and soon we are all connected watching the papers burn, this is the first year I have felt truly scared of the prospect of the reaping. It's like a black pit in my stomach, but I don't let it show. Instead, when the smoke has faded away and is only a smell that tickles the back of my throat I stand silently, the others follow as we walk down creaky wooden steps to the front door of the house.

A quick hello to Ryders mum followed straight away by a soft goodbye. I pretend not to notice when she kisses him on the cheek, we all do. The reaping is not the time for mocking familiar gestures.

Soon we are all walking down pathways we know like the back of our hands, cutting corners through alleyways and trespassing on the riches lawn we throw smiles like they don't mean anything the walk blurs and goes too soon.

Before I know it my body is pressed against the boys in turn and a crimson streak runs down my finger as it is pricked by a peacekeeper, I am catalogues and counted for. I walk with Bonnie to the 17 year old girls section, our hands find each others once more and I squeeze tighter than usual, she squeezes back, the fear is evident in both of us.

I watch as our escort comes onto stage, a darker skinned woman her hair is dyed aqua blue and sticks up so far it seems to double her height. A light dress is weaved around her in a lemon yellow colour, it frills out around her middle, making her look like a plump bird ready to be cooked. I can't help but chuckle at the image this creates in my mind and beside me I feel Bonnie shiver with the sound, a couple of girls throw me dirty looks and I just pull my finger back at them, we all deal with today differently.

"Welcome to the repaig." She says in a high pitched voice that reminds me of the mice that my shabby cat will bring in every other day. "First things first I have a video from you that comes straight from the Capitol! Aren't you all lucky?" The question is laced with sarcasm only extended with her Capitol accent and I can't help but roll my eyes at the absurdity of it all.

The Presidents image is soon plastered on a large concrete wall behind where our escort stands, she looks like a goddess. Gorgeous and brilliant with eyes that seem too wild for the Capitol. Eyes that are obviously troubled by the message she will deliver to us.

She thanks our district for the harvests we give and the food source we provide for the Capitol. And ends on a line that always sends a shock of fear through my heart "thank you for your sacrifices." Her tired eyes say, her voice catching on the last word.

"Simply marvelous!" Our escorts voice ruins any sensation of grief and sympathy, instead it turns to anger at the Capitol and the power that they have over us inside of the districts. It's hardly fair. But then again life never is.

"Ladies first." This statement brings out a cool trickle of terror inside of my veins. I watch as our escort makes her way to the girls bowl with poised prevision, wearing heels larger than anything I have ever seen before she wobbles her way over, shoving her nails right to the bottom she snags a name, slightly crumpling it on its way to the microphone.

Thunder claps overhead as she opens the slip, causing the majority of the audience to jump. I am no exception and Bonnie jumps at my sudden movement. It is too tense to laugh this time, instead I hope with desperate fear that the name she reads out does not belong to anyone that I know. It's a selfish thought, especially with my own name placed in the ritual.

But it turns out I was right a second time.

"Kalista Stone." My name bounces off other children and I head them sigh in relief. I feel the press of Bonnie's lips against mine as a final goodbye and look into desperate eyes, eyes desperate enough for self sacrifice. "Don't." I tell her with as much force as I can muster, I kiss her back with all the passion I can muster before walking towards the stage, I don't bother moving to the side, instead the kids in front make way for me.

Tears sting the back of my eyes but I don't let them show. Instead I contour my face of an emotionless one, I will not let the fear inside of my heart show. I stand next to our escort on the stage as she asks for volunteers, I look ahead of me, toward the back of the square overtop of all of the kids I grew up with heads. I look strong, no one volunteers. I let a small part of me unclench, Bonnie is safe. She only has one more reaping to go after this one, she will be okay. I know so.

"Now for the boys!" Our escorts voice is practically glowing, I am different from the usually weak tributes reaped. I have worked on the fields so muscle spots my frame, I must look like I have a chance I think desperately. I am locked in. I need sponsors to survive, that much is clear.

She tips her hand into the boys bowl, slightly wobbling the bowl rattles on its podium. Our mayor has to jump up and grab it to stop it from shattering on the floor, I snicker, our district has never been the most elegant.

Our escort shoots me daggers as she walks with the boys name to the microphone in the centre of the stage, I have the feeling she is wishing for one of my friends. She clears her throat, making a sharp sound. "Cole Rockweld!" She annonces, it is a boys name that I do not recognize.

My eyes follow the line of boys as a 15 year old moves from his section, he's skinny, with an extremely handsome face and dark hair. A cry comes out from the 18 year old boys section and I laugh out loud as I see Barrick making pushing his way toward the younger boy, I guess both my predictions rang true this year. I have never seen them together before so a glimmer of curiosity shoots through me.

Peacekeepers intercept the older boy and he is pulled back. "Don't volunteer!" Cole yells toward him, now finding himself forced toward the stage by men a lot older. My heart goes out to this boy in my district.

We stand opposite each other on the stage, tears threatening to spill from interlocked eyes I have a moment of pity, we cannot both survive. I stare wide eyed as I notice a hard metal band over his left finger. A wedding band. He nods at me and I return the gesture as our secrets voice shrieks out; "District nine I present your tributes! Kalista Stone and Cole Rockweld!" The applause is muffled and through it cries of anger and grief can be heard.

These games will not be easy. But I must return to those I love.

 **Authors note: I am so sorry for my absence guys! I just have needed some time to have a hard think about my life and find a love for my writing again.**

 **I can't promise twice weekly updates but I will try get out at least one update a week! I hope you have not all forgotten about me over the past couple of months, we have gotten so far already, it would be a shame to lose our mojo now.**

 **Talking about that, I feel like I should give you guys a way to contact me and pressure me to keep writing. Would you be interested in seeing more of the real me? Not just the profile. Tell me if you would and I can share my instagram or something, knowing that you guys know the real me could inspire some more work going on.**

 **Please let me know what you think of these two tributes, it's been interesting getting back into the groove of writing and I hope I have not let anyone down.**

 **Thank you all for putting up with me!**

 **And may the odds be ever in your favour.**


	15. Storms Brewing

Aetius Valter, 54, The Capitol.

The Game Maker marches away from the President's mansion with anger in his eyes and a storm brewing over his heart. His feet dig into the cobbled ground beneath him, loose stones embedding themselves into his over the top dress shoes that a previous lover got him for as a present years ago.

He stops just outside of the President's front gates, a guard dressed in black with a scar across his cheek nods. Brefiley, the game maker wonders why the president would hire someone so grotesque to guard such a regal place. The guard's hair is slicked back, without his scar he would be quite handsome. The game maker doesn't know why that annoys him so much, but it does, feeling like a hot pinprick to his skin.

Reaching fingers deeply into a satin pocket he pulls out a phone as thinner than his hand. This call needs to be made now. He hits the number saved to speed dial and almost instantly he hears his office staff at the other side.

"What do we do sir?" His assistant's voice is urgent and the man takes a deep breath.

"Seize the boy who harmed the girl, and put him into Capitol custody, I want to know everything about him and why he did that."

"I'll have someone right on it sir." The assistance voice is crisp, she is ready to do exactly what she is told. Damage control. It reflects badly on all of them when the games do not go smoothly. The President seemed okay, but her eyes showed a deeper trouble.

The Gamemaker felt a cool wave of anger crossover him at the thought of the President and what he saw when he met with her.

"Sir?" His assistant's voice sounds far away. He shakes his head.

"What was that?" He asks in a harsh tone, he knows its not her fault, the fault lies with the President. But that doesn't stop him from lashing out.

"What do you want with the boy from Six?" The President flashes back to the look of determination on his face when the Peacekeepers tackled him to the ground.

"Nothing." He says. Remembering the Presidents words.

"As you wish sir."

"I'll be back in the office soon. If anything bad happens I'm holding you personally responsible." With that, the Gamemaker ends the call.

He leans his forehead against the gate, the metal cooling his skin off and causing goosebumps to erupt on his skin. Inside his heart pounds a rage that burns cooler than ice as his mind replays the red lipstick mark on the Presidents collarbone that he noticed just before leaving.

The one put there by the Presidents friend.

This situation will have to be handled with as much precision as possible.

He removes himself from the gate, waving at the guard who pretends not to see his moment of weakness. The Gamemaker waders what else he pretends not to see.

Because this situation needs to be handled.

Even if he's not sure how.

 **Authors Note:**

 **Baby I'm back!**

 **Please if you're still around let me know since I know I've been gone a looong while.**

 **Until next time,**

 **May the odds be ever in your favour.**


	16. Prejudice (D10 - REAPING)

**Eva Brath, 14, District 10.**

I have been up for longer than I can remember. The fear of the reaping is deep inside the bones of my family, its two remaining members. My mother pretends that we are just unlucky, unlucky that two daughters have been reaped in as many years.

Being unlucky does not explain why my father was torn from our home one night, taken by the Peacekeepers and his execution broadcasted to every television across Panem. Mother still won't tell us what he did, but it must have been bad. Been bad enough to condone his children to a life of fear, short at that, of the games, of being reaped.

It's almost comical when I see other girls in the District whispering and fearing the games when I know so clearly that the female tributes spot is stamped with my name. It is already stained with the blood of siblings that will not return. A throne made of daggers and held up with the oppression of that past.

It's a small wonder my mother is still able to function after losing her children. Four daughters, she was gifted with. Two of them can now only be found on the horizon, heard in the whispers of the wind and talked to at the dead of night when no one else can hear. The balance between life and death is blurred in this District.

We slaughter cattle by the truckful and pretend it does not affect us, we watch children killed in front of our eyes, and pretend it does not affect us, we say goodbye to those we love, again, and again, and pretend it does not affect us. We are not very good actors here.

My mother's soft snores can be heard, they echo from the too empty walls of a house that used to be full of laughter. I can't say that I always loved my sisters. But we became close after father's death and even closer after my oldest sisters. Back then we didn't realize we were lined up for the slaughter, just like the cattle. It took last year's game for it to truly sink in. I wonder if the citizens of the Capitol realize what's happening. Or if they just think that our family is one of the unluckiest in Panem. I haven't heard of three siblings ever reaped in a row. But some families definitely come up more than others.

Maybe the Braths are the new Odairs. They seem to come up in the games every other year. But we aren't nearly as attractive. My crooked nose, hair dark as oil, too thin lips and frail stature make me look like a scarecrow on the brink of starvation. My ribs can be counted as easily as my fingers these days. I haven't really eaten properly since my sisters were taken. I can't remember the last time I had something hot. The food rots in our cupboards, my mother still buys enough to feed six. Not two and a half.

I know my chances, so I've been watching the games, trying to figure out how I could survive. It's not promising. The past few years of victors have all been large boys ripe with muscle and looking like the definition of handsome. Girls like me get eaten for breakfast then spit right out again when we taste too wiry.

But I have hours before the reaping, ours is in the late afternoon, I have woken up near dawn. My youngest sister, only 10, went to bed in my mother's arms. I think she's what makes me the most upset about the situation, so pure, so innocent, Bryn is so sweet she makes the sugar lollies that they sell in the most expensive shop seem plain.

We both have the same love of animals, it makes living in this District the hardest. Our neighbors are some of the wealthiest in the District, we live in a house right on the edge of their fence line. I like to help them when their cows are birthing. They always need as many hands as possible and last year I even snuck Bryn in to help. No one minded much.

The Peacekeepers let us police ourselves for the most part. They just like to eat their stakes and gamble their pay away. I hear some of them like to spend time with our ladies, that's no real surprise. But they treat us well enough. What happened to my father was a rare occurrence, we have maybe a whipping a month and it's usually well deserved. We are mostly peaceful folk here, too trapped in the veil of death that hangs over our district to care about those who police it. We are slowly suffocating in our own aromas of fear and destruction.

So when I took Bryn to the farm with me none of them batted an eyelid, they like to spend times on the farms. Making sure our poor don't steal from the better off. Though I have never figured out how someone would manage to steal from the cattle farmers. It's not exactly inconspicuous to carve a hunk of meat off a cow then run with it screaming in fear and pain. I could never make myself to that to an animal, that's why the games scare me so much. I've studied the arena, how tributes carve each other up like slabs of meat in the butchery. I could never do that to a person, or an animal. It's the eyes. They are windows right into a being. Into more of them than could ever be imagined.

We found a cow struggling, I sent her to get the farmer and by the time they got back, she was gushing blood onto the dusty ground. It took another hour to get the calf out of her, rule number one is don't let the cow sit down, that's when you know she's not going to make it. Well as soon as her baby was born, a beautiful bull she sat down. I watched her die as she licked her son hello, and goodbye.

My sister was crying after that, only eight she did not understand how closely death and life are tied in the Districts. Two years ago now the image of that cow closing her eyes for the final time haunts me. The image plays with the sound of my sisters cries as a cruel backing track. The baby cried for his mother too, and I remember a tear falling down my cheek.

The babies were rounded up later that day and we spent the next six weeks feeding over 50 calves from the bottle. Morning and night it took a team of volunteers to raise those calves as our own. It's a kind of rewarding work, but I always felt a twinge of sorrow when I would see the female cows marching to provide milk to the Capitol, babies should always be with their mothers. And mothers should never die like that cow.

That year was full of death, my oldest sister and father included. So I don't know why the image of the cow licking her son is so prevalent in my mind. But it's like a broken radio that only plays a few songs, I always come back to it. It shows the cruelty of the world so prevalently. Just like my oldest sister.

Before being reaped she had a proper job on the farm next door, cleaning and tidying around the milking sheds. It wasn't a perfect job, or particularly nice, but she made it work and got enough money into the family that we were better off than a lot of our District. Simple people we are, it enabled us to afford shoelaces, and birthday gifts, not many people get those in District 10.

But we did, because of her. But working on the farm she met a boy. Giancarlo. His name is burned into my mind like the branding irons that are used on the cattle. They were the same age, he was maybe a year older at that age. Both young, but not too young. Young enough to be dumb, old enough to have the drives not to care.

He cheated on her. Constantly. His boyish face turned handsome with a smile, or devilish with a frown. No one wanted to get on his bad side, not with him being built like an ox and taller than almost anyone, even at that age. She was always so afraid to upset him, and he used that. He used her up like his plaything and on numerous nights she would come home crying her eyes out about something he had said or done.

I think my father drew the line when she came home with bruise marks the shapes of fingers all over her stomach and hips. A black eye on complement and a limp that never quite went away after the encounter. She didn't listen to him. Continuing to go back to her own personal devil. I think he got bored of her, she didn't have the looks of some of the merchant girls in our town so he abandoned her, washed out on the shore and without anything left to give.

She never truly recovered from that treatment and was a stranger in her own body. I don't even think it fully registered when father was killed, or when she was reaped. She just continued to have this glassy look over her eyes when it was time to say goodbye. That looks scares me more than anything. And suggests how much people can change due to another. I'm so scared for the arena and how it could change me. I wonder if I'll meet my sisters in heaven.

A movement can be seen in the corner of my vision and I look over to see my little sister tiptoeing out of mothers room. She comes up to where I sit on the coach, I never really got around to turning on the television. Her dark hair bounces in curls like father did and he has his more conventionally attractive looks. Though, we share the same hollow dark brown eyes.

A shimmer in front of my sister's eyes let me know somethings up and I open my arms to her. She rushes into them, pressing her head into my thin chest she starts to cry softly. I grab a faded and frayed blanket that is within arms reach and wrap it around it both of us. It softens the sounds of her tears and I run a hand down her hair, enjoying the feeling of the springiness of it, reminiscing on how my fathers felt the same way.

Maybe I gave my sister too little credit. Her grief echoes my own on today. She must know that it means a death sentence for our family. Even if none of us can explain why. I think it's a secret that my mother will take to her grave. If he even knows. The Peacekeepers must think that she doesn't, or surely she would be rotting under the ground as well. Just bones now.

"Hey, what's wrong?" I ask her, my voice soft. I do not want to wake my mother, not with all the bones that today brings from the past. This will be one of the last times that she will likely see me alive, without the pressure of having to kill someone. My sisters did okay, 14th and 11th, but when only one person survives it doesn't really matter if you were 20th of second. You'll end up six feet under no matter what.

"You're going to go away." She tells me, and my heart sinks. If even she knows there will be no hope, the game makers are keeping to the tradition of choosing my family. It would be a shame to disappoint. I bet the Capitol loves it. I bet they eat up the unlucky family gig that they are selling. I hope those in the Districts don't. But they are probably more worried about their own kids being taken from them. I doubt I will even cross many of their minds. I have bloodbath stamped all over me.

"I am," I tell my sister as if sealing my own fate. I gently take her face in my hand and tilt it upwards. So we are looking at each other right in the eye. "But it's okay. Soon I'll be with our sisters, and father, no matter what they say on the screen, just remember that, okay?" A tear drips down my cheek carving a warm path across cool skin. It feels like I am already in the justice building saying goodbye. I may as well be. But there's something more comforting about doing it at home. Without the games pressing on us in every direction. Home is familiar. Home has good memories as much as bad.

"Can I be with you and the sisters and dad?" My sister's question is so unexpected that it breaks me completely. Hot tears cascade down my cheeks faster than they have before and my body is wracked in uncontrollable sobs. So young. So innocent. This life isn't fair. It's not fair to her. I should not have to be saying goodbye to my last sister. I should not have had to say goodbye to my two others. I shouldn't have to watch their murders when I am eating dinner and I shouldn't be reminded of what happened by the whispers that follow when I go to school or the sad looks people with complete families give me.

"Not for a long time," I tell her, planting a kiss against the top of her head I stay that way for a long time. Listening to her breathe as we are both wracked in sobs. When my mother finds us this way when the light comes through curtainless windows she breaks down too. And we spend our last morning together wrapped in each other's embrace. Until no more tears can be spilled.

 **Trafalgar Zaun, 15, District 10.**

They say that the truth will set you free. And it does. For a moment. For a moment when you tell the truth, it feels like you have taken flight. Like the crows around my District, released from a cage that has been your home for longer than you could ever know. It feels like breaking from cool water in the spring and into the air that smells of the livestock of home. It feels like finally leaving the nest.

Then it doesn't.

Then it feels like the stones that bullies throw at you because they are too full of their own insecurities to try and understand yours. It feels like being slammed against the ground again, and again, and again because they will never get tired of harming you. It feels like the harsh stab of a needle when you try to permanently ink your skin with something that is yours and no bully will be able to take it away from you.

As much as they try.

Because they do.

They try harder than you ever imagined they would.

But you know yourself.

You know that who you are now is who you're supposed to be.

And that makes all of that okay.

Because you are you.

"Trav! Come over here." I'm shaken from my thoughts by the call of my mother. The harsh voice is followed by a harsh cough. I am often reminded of her youth and the smokes that she used to steal from Peacekeepers. Her cough and her hand remind me of it.

Stealing is a crime. Especially from the Peacekeepers. Stealing Panem property. But mother was addicted. She didn't know what else to do. So she stole from them. By the dozen, she would smoke a pack a day and be ready for more.

Till she was caught.

She got too greedy and the Peacekeepers set a trap.

It was her hand or her future.

Their cruel offer was more than she expected.

Pregnant with me and suckling my brother she wasn't willing to barter life. She might have considered it without me. But it was too late at that stage.

They took her fingers and the infection that followed took her hand. She's lucky to be alive. I'm lucky to be alive. Without any complications, it's almost too good to be true. But if you asked my father he would say there were complications. He thinks my identity was created because of it. The blood and the pain and the withdrawal. He doesn't understand why I can't be his son. I can't explain it. There's a reason they say freedom doesn't come without a price.

"What's up?" I ask my mother, standing in the small hallway of our home the light above my head flickers. I can hear wind lashing at the house, a storm is brewing, it will be cold outside. I hope it doesn't rain. The only thing worse than the reaping is a wet one.

"I want you out of the house before your father wakes up." Her cold words are expected, but that doesn't stop the constricted feeling in my stomach. My father and I's relationship has been rocky since I came out to him. I had thought that we were doing okay. A rough hand on a rougher wall panel as my vision swoops, I close my eyes.

I force my stomach to take deep breaths, like the crows I watch I imagine my stomach expanding with each breath then falling as it leaves my lungs. The crows expand like a balloon when they breathe, I try to create that for myself. I need more oxygen in me. It will be okay. Your family does not define you.

When I feel the ground solidify under my feet I open my eyes, I stare into the blue eyes that I was unlucky enough not to inherit. Instead, I got the hazel ones of my father. "Okay," I tell her, my voice can barely be heard over the stirring of the wind.

She nods at me, her long black hair falling lifelessly against her shoulders. It stays unnaturally still as she turns on her feet, marching back toward the kitchen. I take another moment to breathe, inhaling the musky scent of decay that my home emits before removing my hand from the wall and walking back into my room. I close the door with a soft creek, the hinge is so rusty it has started to corrode.

As my mother is essentially kicking me out I don't feel obliged to wear my reaping outfit. I've worn the same thing since I was 12 and it's getting too small now. I should hand it off to my younger brothers. Instead, I grab a dark tank top that lays crumpled on the floor. It smells of home and sweat, but that's just me.

Blue jeans go over the same undershorts that I slept in and a hoodie that tries to hide from me in the corner of my faded room is tied around my waste. I hate the feeling of them, itchy, constricted and covering the ink marks on my shoulder. But another howl from the wind outside makes me realize that I will need it for today, goosebumps are already starting to travel up over my bare arms, disrupting the flow of my caramel skin.

I open my door again, walking a couple of steps down the hallway I step over the notoriously creaky floorboard. Opening a door I slip into a darkened room. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust, a sliver of light escaped from a rip in the only curtain. It lands just before the bed of my youngest brother, Jabari.

But he's not in his bed. Instead, I look over to where my sister sleeps and spot two figures curled up together. Jabari and Salome. They are wrapped in each other's arms, Salome's thumb sticks out of her mouth, she sucks it still as a nervous habit. Jabari is still too young to be reaped, but I know he fears for her. They hold a special bond those two.

Salome is my closest family member, she accepts me for who I am, no questions asked. But our bond could not be compared to this. I think that they were supposed to be twins, they look enough alike to be. Not at all like our oldest brother, Giancarlo.

I'm convinced Giancarlo isn't my fathers. With skin as dark as the shadows and sooty eyes, the only thing he has from our family is my mother's hair. But my father wouldn't hear any of it. Giancarlo is his star son. He works on the farm of a merchant, he's quite the looker, build like an ox he is as intimidating as he is handsome. I hear stories of him. Of the horrible things he does to girls in our district and the ways that the Peacekeepers pretend not to notice. One of them has identical eyes to him.

But now isn't the time to be lost in his warpath. Instead, I spend the time trying to soak in the images of my younger and kinder siblings. The way their arms are tangled around each other to create a link stronger than blood. The way their auburn hair is messy just like mine, the protruding cheekbones and sharp noses that signify our family as our own. The way my little brothers pinky is slightly too bent. Just like mine. The way my sisters got a birthmark the color of berries just under her chin, just like mine on my stomach.

I try to engrave this image on my mind, I know it won't last. But I can try. Try to remember my family like this, instead of the one that turns me bloody for my identity. But all good things must come to an end and I hear the commanding shout of my father commanding my mother to boil him water for a bath.

I don't hear her reply. Instead, I run a cool hand through the soft hair of my brother, then over the soft skin of my sister's cheek. She will be okay. She is too pure to be reaped. Too soft. She will marry someone good. She will have a good life.

I escape the house when I hear my father enter the bathroom, slipping out the back door that the glass has been cracked by unkind stones and never replaced. We don't have the money to replace anything that is not essential. I got a beating after it was done. For attracting the unkindness. I still carry the scars from my father's wrath, lines across the pale flesh of my butt.

He even let my Giancarlo take strokes at me, he used the buckled end of the belt. I shake my head into the harsh wind that greets my face. Hoping that it will help shake the wicked memories from my brain I unclench the hoodie from around my waste and shove lanky limbs into the holes. Undignified I know there is no one around to see me.

Brody will be with his brother today, another wicked ghost from my past. I do not have to waste my time wondering if he will walk with me to the square. I don't mind arriving early, there will be time to people watch. I like to predict who will get reaped, call me morbid but I think we all have our own coping mechanisms on reaping day.

So that's what I do.

Blood is pricked and I almost enjoy the feeling of the needle entering my skin, Breaking the thing layer of skin that holds onto my mortality. It feels like power. I find a wall of the square, a railing put up. I lean against it, letting the cool wind chill me to the bone as the square fills around me.

Two of us will not survive much longer.

Why does that idea not scare me anymore?

I stay in my thoughts until I hear the shrill call of feedback on the chrome microphone that our escort uses and I look up to see an extremely large women commanding our stage. She stands taller than most, with a pixie cut so short it could almost be buzzed. A metallic fabric covers her body, falling in sheets to make her look as much robot as human and her voice is as much imagination as reality.

"Welcome, welcome, welcome." She says in a voice so monotone it is almost comical. With two claps of her hands, she walks to the left of the stage, with our pitiful amount of victors, and our Presidents face appears before us. She thanks our District for the cattle and food that we provide for the Capitol and tells us what a vital part of the system we are.

She ends on her now-famous lines. "Thank you for your sacrifice." That has always seemed more fitting to me. Sacrifice seems to convey the gravity of the situation more. The hopelessness that the Districts feel. And the way the light reflects off her eyes I can tell she is close to tears. I wonder if she has recorded an individual one of those for each District. I'm sure sending your citizens to death would be hard on any ruler. But I don't have much sympathy. She could stop this if she really wanted to.

"Ladies first!" Our escorts predictable first words are followed by a silence of the District. The girl has been from the same family for two years in a row now, though I do not know the family's name. I know they have one more eligible.

The escort snags the first piece of paper she can find, not mucking about with nails as long as her fingers, strutting back to the microphone she reads a name that we were all partially expecting. "Eva Brath, please come up dear."

A girl with similar characteristics and the same last name as the past two years walks forward, she wears a white dress that seems so pure on her it almost hurts, the family has done a lot of hurting the past couple of years. I heard a rumor my brother dated one of the dead girls for a bit. I hope that he did not cause more pain. But something tells me he did.

Tears swim at the edge of this girls vision and I hear a child cry out in pain, looking over I see who must be her sister crying out. She's too young for the games. I hope that their family catches a break. They look like they need it.

When she reaches the stage she stands looking over our heads, goosebumps covering her body. She looks strangely strong. Like a fighter. That is until she collapses. Our mayor is there to help her, a kind woman who gets the girl out of her daze. A blackout. She may have ruined her chances for sponsors. But she can't help it. She's seen her two sisters murdered and she's about to join them.

The escort rushes to the boy's bowl as if wanting to get it over with without any more drama. Funny, I thought drama made good television in the Capitol. Maybe it's only the scripted kind. Curling her elongated fingers into the bowl she drives her hand straight down, grabbing a slip from the middle of the bowl. I take a deep breath.

"Trafalgar Zaun." Her monotone voice almost makes me forget the sting of being called a boy. Of being called anything. I fought for so long so I would not have to be anything. But it comes back to this in the Capitol.

Tears sting the edges of my eyes and I rub them as I walk in shakey strides up to the stage, I rush it, just wanting to get the walk to my death over with. Shaking hands with the girl I realize neither of us has a shot. But maybe we can put on a good enough show to get a sponsor. I force a smile onto my features as the escort addresses the audience.

"District 10! I present to you your two tributes! Eva Brath and Trafalgar Zaun!" We are both too young, too timid, but maybe that will be enough. Maybe that will be enough for a friendship to be built upon. She forces a small smile in reply to mine. Maybe we should not count ourselves out yet.

 **Authors note: I am sooo excited to be back into this story guys! It just started flowing again to write and I am starting to gather all my ideas about where I want this story to go. It will include quite a lot of our Capitol friends so I can tell you the Tributes are not the only ones in these games…**

 **Please let me know what you think of these two tributes! They were so fun to write.**

 **To,** **66samvr. I hope that I wrote Trav well, I didn't want his gender identity to control him so tried to write it in as respectful a way as possible. Please let me know if I did okay, it was a scary task for me taking on a Tribute like them as I really don't want to write them in a bad way.**

 **As always let me know what you think,**

 **And may the odds be ever in your favour...**


	17. Warmth (D11 - REAPING)

**Poppy Northrop, 15, District 11.**

My home overlooks an orchard. In the summer I run through it, the rich scent of the sweet fruit flows into my nose with every inhale, I can almost taste it with the exhale. I have to be careful. The Peacekeepers here are quick to anger. If I was ever caught I would surely be executed. Our District is so large. No one notices the disappearance of children. Not even the mayor's daughter is safe.

I work on the wheat farm about five kilometers away, down the hill near the river, away from my home. I run to it before dawn. I have got the pace down so it barely takes any time. I could do the run in my sleep. It's right next to Harvest's home. He can get away with walking just a few paces.

But in winter it's a pain. We live so far away from the few schools in our district that it is barely worth going. A couple hours to walk, none of us have cars. Mothers car is reserved strictly for work, Peacekeepers monitor the fuel gauge by each little notch. By the time we get to school, if we decide to go, the schools are too crammed with students you would be lucky to be able to hear the teacher with all the chatter going on. Maybe one textbook per ten students, it's not worth it once you are old enough to work.

Parents take it on themselves to teach their kids in the offseason when we are all not needed so frequently on the farms and can relax for a bit. Not that my family needs to work, with my mother being the mayor we could all happily live off of her salary. Especially since the President put rations up, we have excess grain some seasons.

But I couldn't do that to Harvest. My reward from helping on the farms goes straight to his family. With eight members they need all they can to survive. I help out as much as I can, I know it makes an impact with so many young children. When they all start to work I will be able to ease up with it, but it is only recently that I have stopped seeing the family stop wearing the hollow cheeks of their past.

My mother is far too busy to teach us, always rushing about the District trying to do damage control on what new error has appeared. A new crack in the pristine plate that she tries to serve to the Capitol. I don't blame her, the President is scary. She's so young but something about her calm demeanor scares me like it could take off any second. I met her once, she came and visited all of the Districts just after she was appointed President. I have a vivid memory of her ruffling my straight brown hair. But that is it.

My father Till teaches us, me and Harvest. My favorite is the stories of Panem's history that he is not officially allowed to say. I don't know how he knows so much. He tells us that his family passed down the stories from generation to generation. He won't say who taught him all this. But I know our family has been reaped for the games before. Even if their names are lost. All father would tell me is that her sister was a vital part of the rebellion, though she was not involved in it. Father told me that her sister is everything beautiful, and that is all I need to know.

If anyone found out he was telling us these stories he would be executed. But that does not stop him. He always says we need to know our history. And we are both smart enough not to repeat any words. We would be killed too. A knowledgeable society is dangerous. The President would rather have a complacent one.

My father has told us more than I could have possibly imagined. In winter it gets freezing cold in my District. Father lights a fire and me and Harvest sit with our backs to it, being warmed by the licking flame and with a blanket wrapped around sockless feet. We sit like that often for his stories. Staring at father who sits on a large armchair just across from us. The firelight reflects in his eyes and the stories he tells seem to come from the flames themselves.

Of the second rebellion.

The 74th games.

There were two victors of that games. The first and last in history my father blames the Game Maker of the time for letting it happen. His name has been lost to history, no one has bothered to remember it. The tapes of the Games were burned, never to be talked about again, they tried to erase them from our history. And it has worked. I think that it's from that generation that the information is passed down, from the sister, 115 years later.

But the two victors created a rebellion. My father told me about rebellions. Motherless children and massive loss of lives. The destruction of the world that we have known and the possibility of never going back. The first rebellion was bad enough, after that the Hunger Games were born. The District is rough, people like Harvest go to bed hungry, but it is better than rebellion. Better than death and destruction.

But father taught me all about the second one. After the 74th games, the two victors incited violence, manipulating the Capitol into sympathy for them. They were the lapdogs of the Capitol, they could have had anything they ever wanted. But instead, they chose to destroy our way of living.

So the President had to stop it, President Snow. His name follows in whispers like those of a snake, over candlelight dinners his name is passed around as a kind of legend. I've heard that there's a huge golden statue in the Capitol commemorating him. Creating an immortal shell that has lived on long since his death.

My father wove a web of intricate stories, telling us of Snow's plan. The 75th games. A quarter quell. The victors inciting the violence were reaped and the Capitol watched them turn on each other.

But then they tried to escape. My father's voice had dropped at that part and a cool stab of fear had punctured my chest. No one escapes the Hunger Games. No matter if you are a career from District one or a poor miner from District 12, you go to the games and you win or you lose, there is no other option.

Well, father told me of an impossible third. They sent in hovercrafts to pick up the victors. This is where their plan went wrong. The Capitol was on high alert and shot their metallic birdies out of the sky, they exploded over the arena, crashing into the jungle that was created inside of it.

After that, there was a lot of confusion about who lived and who died. A jumble of names and limbs the cameras were no longer working. The head Game Maker disappeared. Shot down with the traitors trying to get the future of the rebellion out of the arena.

They ended up with a few alive tributes. The two victors of the 74th Games have executed life, their District firebombed, family and friends killed. That left them with a handful of remaining tributes. The President made the decision to leave it to a Capitol vote, one tribute would be crowned the victor for the second time, the rest executed along with the Mockingjay.

Father did not tell me what the Mockingjay meant. He just shook his head and an angry look came over his face, unlike anything I had ever seen from him before it was like the devil was sitting across from me and not my father. It's clear he hated the Mockingjay, even if I had no idea what that meant.

The only name who I recognize from the many that my father was rattling off was who survived. Finnick Odair. I've watched his games before, the 65th Hunger Games, he is still the youngest victor in history. They like to replay his tapes any time a young tribute gets into the top four. A few have been called the new Odair but never found victory like him. Though I'm not sure you could call it a victory.

While he is possibly the most famous tribute in Hunger Games history it has not come without a cost. His descendants have constantly been reaped for the Games, still being punished from the actions of an ancestor. I feel sorry for them, I really do. But I understand why sometimes the reapings must be rigged. There must not be any chance of a rebellion.

The Games are a great way to squash the feelings from parents and friends of the children. A lot more public and presented with a slice of hope. I think hope is what hurts the people in the Districts the most. Without hope, it would be so easy to give up, but the promise of a victor has everyone full of hope for their tribute. It's worse seeing that squashed year after year as they are killed.

It's why I understand the way we do things here. There are far too many children in our District to fit into a square on reaping day. We are far too spread out around the District too. So the envelopes are sent out the day before the reaping.

The envelopes.

The color of crimson. My mother picked that out. To commemorate our President. The envelopes turn up in the mailbox of every child of reaping age, the morning of the reaping. No one sleeps in anyways. A selection of the population is randomly chosen to attend the reaping and will find their name in the glass bowls. If the card found inside the envelope is blank, you are safe for the year.

But if it has a time on it that is your collection time and you risk going into the Games. Only as much as others in different Districts, but it's still impossibly more than a blank letter receives. A Peacekeeper will turn up at your collection point with a truck at the appointed time, they spend all their time ferrying children to the reaping.

Parents must make their own way, if at all. Then out of those selected a tribute for the Games is chosen. I have received an envelope with a time on it every year, it is to be expected from the mayor's daughter, even if my chances of going in are impossibly slim you never know who is watching and I am a recognizable figure. It is important for the image that I am there. To keep the illusion going for the Capitol. Harvest has always gotten a blank envelope, begging me after my mother takes me home to tell him all about it.

He wishes he could experience the reaping. I have never understood why. The depression from the children can almost be tasted on the air. Fear and desperation evaporate into the air, slowly suffocating the mass of people packed in too tightly. We have a special channel on the television, citizens can watch from their own homes the reaping played live. It helps to stop the congestion.

But it means that not every tribute reaped has someone to say goodbye to them. Last year, the boy tributes mother has stuck a three-hour walk away from the square and the boy had no one to say goodbye to him. My mother usually goes then and talks to the tribute. She acts as a kind of temporary mother, I don't know if it works, she never talks about those visits. She just collects me from the square with red eyes.

Dawn is just starting to break over my District and I watch as it lights the orchard in a golden haze. This is how I want to remember my District. Not from the cruel or the damned, but from the moments of beauty that can be found anywhere.

 **Harvest Kohl, 15, District 11.**

As soon as I get my crimson envelope in the mail I know its bad. A terrible terrible feeling buried deep into the pit of my stomach arrives with it. I have to force myself not to dry heave as I rip the letter open. Its crimson exterior being surprisingly tough to get through, a crimson mark of my own runs down my thumb and is accompanied by a hiss of pain.

But I don't care about that.

The envelope.

It has a time.

A mixture of excitement and fear courses through my veins. I will finally get my chance to experience the reaping, not have to beg Poppy and her mother to tell me all about it when they get back. But I am also eligible. For the first time, I feel the tight feeling of fear in my chest that means that I could be reaped. I could be in the Capitols clutches soon.

The timestamp on the card shows I only have an hour to get changed and get to the collection point, a small grain factory about halfway between my house and Poppys. I hate walking the route. The dust gets into my eyes and nose and burns at the edges of my vision. Coughing fits usually follow with being exposed to the orchards either side.

Scrambling back into my home I quickly undress from my loose sleeping garments and turn the rusted tap that's so battered it feels almost soft. I push a moldy shower curtain across the opening and feel cool water dribble over my skin. It's been way too hot lately, sticky moisture in the air the consistency of syrup.

The heat doesn't leave and is only gone momentarily when a rainstorm falls and threatens to flood our rickety houses that dance with the danger of mudslides and leaky roofs. The orchardists don't like it when it rains. The fruit gets damaged and the crops get pummeled. But there's nothing that can be done. We have been out lately trying to pick the fruit and harvest the wheat from the fields and orchards nearby.

Poppy is the only thing that has made it bearable. Staring at the warm smile that tugs at her lips and her straight brown hair that falls like a waterfall down her back. She thinks her eyes are only brown, but I see sparks of blue and green and amber in them when she doesn't think that I am looking. Her pale skin has even become slightly tanned in all the sun we have been in, like me her skin has erupted into a carpet of freckles.

Only on her, the freckles look like the stars in the sky. Creating intricate patterns on her skin and making her appear almost foreign. They just make me look lanky and pale. I never seem to catch the tan as she does. Looking down at my arms now they are spotted with the red-cinnamon spots of color, beneath that there is a pale complexion rare for 11.

I often get very burnt from the fields. It makes it hard to return the next day with angry red patches that scream in pain when I have to bury the scythe into grains again and again and again, day after day. But my family needs the money. And Poppy helping out means my family is coming out of the dark patch that we were once in.

My brown hair slicks into my eyes with the wet dribble coming from above, my eyes are blue, another rarity in 11. I don't know how I managed to inherit them. Mother tells me they look just like her grandmother's, father says the same about his grandfather. I never knew them. They died before I was born. Us in 11 often die young, once you can't work on the fields or orchards you slowly starve to death. And our family is in no means to help others. We barely used to keep our heads above water.

Mother and father went into a depression when my brother Durian died, we plummeted into starvation. They lost their parents in that same year and it hit hard. I think my parents are still trying to recover from it. I know my brother would not want me to grieve, but to keep fighting, so I do every single day. Thinking of him all the way.

I talk to him.

I talk my thoughts out loud. I've told him all about Poppy, and how I wish that she could see what I do. How beautiful she is, how much I love her, how she has meant the savior of my family by donating her paycheck from working on the orchards and farms to us. But my brother is the only person who knows. I have never had the guts to tell her how I feel. Maybe I never will. If you hold your tongue no one can make fun of you for it, when you speak thoughts they become real.

I get out of the shower with troubled thoughts and a muddy mind. Checking the time on the Capitol issue television I see I only have a few minutes to get out of the house if I want to make the reaping on time. My parents have already left to the orchard they work at, picking fruit for a nice farmer yet watched by harsh peacekeepers. My little sister has been left at a family friendly home with the other little ones in the area. The parents here create their own daycare. Donating some of their money to the mother that watches them in compensation for her time.

Going into the room I share with my little sister Bean I stare at the large straw sack that we have as a mattress. Its very large, with plenty of room for the both of us, made of a thick brown woven material it has been custom sewed for this purpose. We have a couple of much smaller sacks as pillows and a thin blanket is ruffled on top.

We have thicker blankets but that is saved for winter. With the two of us, I often wake up in a hot sweat in the summertime. In winter we curl together to try and take the chill off, the seasons here in 11 are hash.

I walk over the bed today, going to the small cupboard across the roam. Opening it, I am greeted with my meager collection of possessions. Despite only having a towel wrapped around me, I can already feel the heat of the day. I use the back of my arm to wipe beads of sweat off my forehead and sigh as I realize what I will have to wear today. My reaping outfit was a hand me down I got years ago but had never had to wear until now. Good thing it was miles too big when we first got it.

I groan as I put on rough undershorts, followed by long black pants. By the feel of them, they are a fabric that will soak up the heat of the day. I hope the reaping is under shelter. Or I might walk out there and then.

A white button-up shirt goes overtop of my chest, its heavy fabric has me hot already underneath it, sweat pools further on my forehead. I pick up the even heavier black blazer, I will wait until the last moment to put it on. I sit on the mattress on my floor as I put on worn out socks and my father's old black boots.

I am wearing his reaping outfit from when he was younger. It was probably his father before his too. Some children never have to go to the reaping in 11. That's a luxury that citizens from other Districts will never know. I will have to move quickly to make the pickup, missing it will surely mean my execution. You don't miss reaping day. Not when you have so many chances of not needing to be there.

I leave the house locked, placing the key underneath a doormat almost in shreds from poor quality and too much use. I walk down the road, a fast pace to my steps. Heat seems to press down on me from all sides, this must be the hottest day we have had for a long time. There is no shade to offer me any relief either as I walk down a barren dirt road with wheat and grains growing on either side of me. Their shadows not quite reaching my path.

By the time I get to the grain factory, there are deep armpit stains from sweat on my white jacket and the aroma clings to me. My face is blotchy and red, I rolled up the sleeves of my shirt to try and offer my arms some relief in the impossibly hot air. It hasn't worked very well. The fabric of the white material is just too heavy.

Poppy is already there, I spot her sitting outside of the collection point on a drab concrete bench that seems to plain for her. She wears a lavender dress that ruffles at the waist and hugs her slim figure. It makes her look a lot older than 15, like a woman who is ready to steal the hearts of all of the men in our district. My heart melts like my forehead just looking at her.

She looks up, locking eyes with mine I see an expression of worry take over her features. I see it in the way her mouth drops open slightly, and the way her eyebrows crinkle in the middle. She rushes over to me, getting me sat on the bench and rushing off to get some water before handing me some in a battered plastic cup. I gulp it down greedily. Savoring the feeling of the cool liquid dripping down my chin.

"Thank you," I tell her, my voice etched in gratitude.

"That's what friends are for." She replies back, she wraps a skinny arm around my back as I rest my elbows on my knees. Trying to regain my breath from the walk. I'm not unfit. I can work on the farms fine. It's the heat that gets me.

"My mother told me last night that it was set to be the hottest day on record today." She informs me, staring ahead at the dirt trails that are engraved with the tracks of trucks that have pulled up to collect our Districts exports. I laugh at that.

"Well, it certainly has delivered," I tell her, a slight note of humor in my voice. Before I erupt in a coughing fit, spluttering water, and phlegm onto the ground beneath us. Poppy looks concerned and rubs my back, making soft circular motions. I hope she can't tell how she makes my heart accelerate in just that one simple movement.

We stay silent until the buzz of a van gets our attention. We stand as a minivan driven by a Peacekeeper pulls in front of us. The large sliding door opens and we get in brusquely. It is already packed with people and we sit next to a young kid. He's maybe 12 or 13 years old and looks terrified. I see Poppy smile an encouraging smile at him. She starts a quiet conversation. That's what I love so much about her. Always helping others.

When the doors to the van close we speed off, toward the heart of the District. The ride is extremely bumpy and I have to close my eyes tight and try to block the heat of the van and the people in it. The smell of sweat on so many bodies and the rocking of the vehicle, I feel nauseous around the halfway point. I can't puke on Poppies dress. It is too beautiful to ruin.

"Get out!" The Peacekeepers yell makes me jolt. It's an extremely rough sound, commanding attention and sounding like a smoker. I scramble off of the bus with Poppy, managing a few steps away on the hard concrete ground before throwing up the feeble breakfast that I had. I loosen the top couple buttons on my shirt as sweat cascades off of my forehead into my eyes and making me blink salty streaks.

"Its okay," Poppy tells me, used to it. She knows that I do not handle the heat well and I feel my heart ache with an appreciation of her. I look over at her, she looks composed, without a bead of sweat on her head and her tanned skin making her look beautiful. She smiles an encouraging smile at me and I can't help but smile back, my mouth tastes disgusting but there is no way to wash the taste away.

She holds a hand out and I take her slender hand in my sweaty one as we line up with the rest of the kids to get into the square. It just gets hotter and hotter surrounded by the unlucky children of our District and several times I become short of breath. But a look across at Poppy calms me and she gets me to the end of the line.

We only break contact when the Peacekeeper picks my finger, drawing a small spot of crimson blood and marking me off on an endless list of kids. I wait for Poppy inside, slipping her in an oily, sweaty hug. She is too worried to notice.

"See you in a few minutes." She tells me when she finally breaks away, offering me a thumbs up before disappearing into the girl's section. I am left with a complement sitting on my lips. I am always too late to tell her. Too worried that she doesn't feel the same way. I have missed so many opportunities to tell her how I feel. But if she doesn't feel the same way then it is a blessing, if she does it's a curse. I don't know if I will ever have the guts to find out which one. Friendships like ours are impossibly hard to find, I don't think I should risk that for my own selfish desires.

I walk to the 15-year-old boy's designated area and see I am not the only one sweating in such heavy clothes that make up our reaping outfits. Its a sea of black, the girls are slightly more colorful, but not much. It's all muted colors of the mourning. Poppy stands out in her violet dress, but she is purposely not looking towards me, I wonder if the color is intentional. Make her stand out to the Capitol. A friend next to her makes eye contact with me and giggles jabbing her in the side but Poppy ignores her. I can see a pink blush covering her cheeks but can't figure out why.

I turn my head back to the stage when I hear the heavy boots of someone walking on it. It's our escort. He doesn't look hot. He's in a skimpy outfit obviously trying to attract attention from the Capitol. A bright orange mullet juxtaposes the drab concrete of our Justice Building behind him. He wears nothing on his chest, exposing a skinny frame with a nipple piercing. Overtop, he wears a teal blue blazer with a pattern too intricate for me to see from this distance. On his pants, he wears shorts of a matching design. District 11 is always a bit of a laughing stock, this mental escort will reinforce that idea. He makes us look like a joke. I feel resentment towards him and the sponsors that he has cost our future tributes.

Our mayor stands next, Poppy's mother, and gives a speech explaining the dark days and why the Hunger Games must exist. Her voice is hollow as she reads it, and sweat has broken out over her face, she wears black too. At the end of the speech, we clap robotically before the escort plays a video that shows our Presidents face.

She thanks our District for the food and labor that we provide for the Capitol. A vital cog in the machine, she even gets emotional and mentions some of our past tributes that did well in the games. By the time she says her trademark line, "thank you for your sacrifice." A tear has etched its way across her cheek, smudging perfect makeup. She seems genuine to me, real grief in her eyes that only someone whos been through it can see. But I don't know. She could just be an exceptional manipulator. I don't think I'll ever know the truth.

"And now for the girls!" Our escort is practically squealing with excitement as he rushes over to the girl's bowl. Shoving a hand in he crumples as many slips as he can before picking one. My heart clenches as I think of all the children that have had to take tesserae in our District. The bowl was almost overflowing.

"Poppy Northrop!" He announces excitedly to the District, almost making her name unrecognizable in his high pitched squeal. But I hear it. And she does too. I frantically look in her direction and see that lovely violet dress marched to the slaughter. I try to stay strong for her, our eyes interlocked, she looks strong. I feel a tear drip down my cheek, just like the Presidents. It feels unnaturally warm. As hot as blood.

He gives her a too long hug, pressing his bare chest right against hers I feel tense at the way he looks at her. By the looks of some of the older Victors, they notice too. She will be in good hands with them around. But the male escorts eyes linger on her chest for too long for it to be accidental. I feel my blood boil as hot as the sun.

We made a pact. I can't volunteer. I promised her I wouldn't. We have never broken a promise to one another. So I am strong when the escort grabs a boys name, shoving his hand just as enthusiastically into the too small bowl one slip falls onto the floor. The escort smiles maliciously, picking up that slip.

Standing at a rose gold microphone he calls out the name of the male tribute. "Harvest Kohl." No. It can't be me. I promised Violet it wouldn't be me. It's my first reaping. There must be a mistake. Silent tears fall down my cheeks as I realize there is no mistake and I silently make my way onto the stage.

I see Poppy balling her eyes out on the stage. Crying loudly I wrap my arms around her once I get onto the stage. She rests her head on my chest and I wrap my arms around her. I couldn't save her. From the reaping. From this pain. I have no vision, it's all a hazy, and static is impossibly loud in my ears. I can barely hear our escort say his final words.

"District 11 I present you with your tributes! Poppy Northrop and Harvest Kohl."

Our District cries with us.

 **Authors note:**

 **Allllmost there! I cannot tell you how excited I am to be almost done with the reapings. Its taken almost a year but we are getting closer and closer to completion. Thank you al for sticking with me, I am so glad that you havent given up on these tributes!**

 **In saying that your reviews are what keeps me going so please continue with them :)**

 **Last reaping will be coming out later this week...**

 **As always thank you so much for reading! And make sure to leave a review. I love to hear what you think of the tributes...**

 **And,**

 **May the odds be ever in your favour.**


	18. Unease (D12 - REAPING)

**Flint Fraser, 13, District 12.**

I propel my arms out like airplanes as I run across the harsh gravel pathway inside of my District. The sky is pure blue and the sun radiates down on my face. I smile up as it as I jump from side to side, trying to avoid that largest cracks on the pathway.

Step on a crack and break your mother's back.

I love my mother.

Smoke billows from the rickety houses of the Seam that surround me as I continue on my path. They are dark, some boarded up at the windows and with the black marks of burns on them. We don't know why so many buildings are burned or crumbled in this District. My sister says she will tell me when I'm older. I've been counting down the days.

I listen out for the whoops and screams of the other boys, I can just head them at the edge of the wind. I run faster. I am winning the game. They can't catch me. My small frame does not make me the fastest boy. But I can wriggle around corners and into cracks that no one else would have seen.

My thick glasses keep falling down to the edge of my face, the thin copper wiring that frames it bends in the heat of the day. My sister made them for me. She's perfect. Always inventing things in her shed that she keeps out behind the house. She gets angry with me when I go in there and she is working.

I think she gets nervous when someone is watching her work and yells at me to leave. I don't mind it. I get anxious when others are looking at me too. I continue to run, my feet getting tangled in the gravel beneath me but somehow still keeping me up in my too large boots.

I'm wearing my reaping outfit today. I've only worn it once before so it is like a special treat. It is the best clothes I own. My school shoes are on my feet, they're not new but I keep them nice and clean, polishing them with a wet rag every night. My sister, Farah teases me for this. It has become a habit. Me taking my shoes off and starting to clean them, her coming out of her workroom and ruffling my hair always saying, "with all the coal in the town, no one will notice what shade of black your shoes are."

Its a bad line, but it makes me giggle with the dramatic voice she uses to say it. She then ruffles my coffee brown hair until it is a curly mop that tangles lower than my eyes. I always try to blow it out of my face but only end up fogging up my glasses. My sister laughs at that and our mother hears us at that point and comes out too, she cleans my glasses for me as I brush my hair back. And by the time my hair is out of my face again, my shoes are clean from my sister helping and she and my mother smile and we tell each other about our days.

It's a nice tradition we have developed. Though we would not label it that way. It is just simply something that we do. Like sitting in front of our fire in winter and telling made up stories, the characters being us, placed in a better life. Sometimes we ponder what it would be like to live in the sun and sea of District 4, of the bountiful orchards of District 11, sometimes, we even wonder what it would be like to live in the luxuries of District 1.

Farah wishes we were born in District 3, where the inventors are expected and realized fro their creativity. She thinks it would be a better life for all of us there. I wish we were born in District 4, with the sea and surf I can picture myself lying on the sand or getting into water fights with my friends. My mother goes quiet during these times, eventually, she mumbles out District 7, she wants to be able to work in the forestry, with nothing but herself and nature. We get quiet after those chats, lost in our own worlds of imagining impossible lives. But it's nice. We are all connected then too.

I have long black slacks on, they fall down over my legs in billowing streams of fabric and catch the wind as I run. The sensation is like nothing I have experienced before and it tickles my calves and thighs as I run. It is a pleasant, soft feeling that I want to keep feeling more of. So I run faster and faster to try and continue feeling it. It's not every day that I get to wear these. Mother would yell at me if she knew I was treating my best clothes like this, but she allowed me to go out with my friends on the morning of the reaping. She will meet me at the square after it is over to take me home.

It's a good night after the reaping, last year my mother saved up and got us a special treat. An orange. I savored its sweet taste as we shared it, the three of us. I wonder if she has bought another one this year. We barely get by as it is, but the smile on all of our faces as we ate it made me forget to question her about where she got it.

Finally, I wear a short sleeved white button-up shirt. It falls down, over my hips it is miles too big. But the fabric is soft and smooth and feels warm against my chest. It makes me feel like I am growing up older just like my sister promised. I roll up the sleeves and my mother safety pinned them up for me this morning. The access fabric flaps about in the wind making me feel grounded.

I sniff the air, it smells of coal and pine trees. That's when I know I am getting close to the fence that surrounds our District from the area beyond. It's impossibly tall, with electric currents pulsing through it all day and all night. I've never known anyone to go beyond the District into the woods, the Peacekeepers would surely shoot you on site.

The Peacekeepers don't much about in my District. Large metal stations are set up in our square to flog those who do not comply. Not even the colorful windows of the shop and bakery can make the square feel safe these days, not when the harsh ground always has fresh blood on it.

I've never seen anyone whipped in front of me. But sometimes their screams will carry across the District when I am playing outside with my friends. Whenever I hear them I move away from the terrible noise. If I listen to the air closely now I can hear the marching of Peacekeepers boots on the gravel, but no sound of any victim.

They must be moving toward the reaping. To prick our fingers for the blood that they use to categorize that we are there. Not that they couldn't tell. District 12 is by far the smallest, my school is so small we only need four teachers. There are maybe 50 kids in my year. About the same in the other ones. I think this dates back to the second rebellion too.

It's hard for us to produce enough coal for the Capitol, but luckily they need less than they used to. We balance a line as thin as thread between starvation and poverty, often you walk down the street and see an unmoving body lying in a doorway. The Peacekeepers come and collect it. But it could be days or weeks later. It's awfully frightening when they do that. I avoid the areas.

"Found you!" The high pitch voice of my best friend Felix. Followed closely by Mira and Justin. Justin's dog Pecan follows him and I smile at the goofy expression on the dogs face. The way it's fat pink tongue pokes out of its mouth as it follows obediently at Justin's heels. That dog is the happiest dog I have ever seen.

"Gotta tag me to get me out!" I yell back, my voice full of laughter as I take off, doubling back on the cracked pathway I duck between two tight-knit buildings. Getting my clothes caught on creepers I force my way between the two buildings, braking cobwebs and ending up with a tangle over my face and hair.

I hear my friends laughing behind me and Pecans playful barks in my direction. I get to the other side of the buildings and take off, rushing into the outer area of the district I wriggle under a fence meant to keep animals out. I feel my hands get grazed by the gravelly ground but I am not willing to be caught yet. The moment of the chase is just too great.

Sprinting across an overgrown paddock I jump a small broken mound that used to be a home, my boots shard already cracked porcelain that is all that remained of those who used to live there and I smile at the sound it makes. Like nothing, I've heard before.

I scramble overtop of the next fence post that I find and end up in a part of the District I don't often spend time in. But I can hear the laughter of my friends getting closer and the chase continues. I jump over a sack of coal spilled onto the ground and already partially crumpled and down into another alleyway. Two brick buildings on either side of me that look like they could crumble at any second and smell like burned toast.

The alleyway gets dark as something is hung between two windows above and I keep racing through it, my feet echoing dully in the empty space. My lungs burst from exertion but I push my body to move that much quicker as my feet pound faster on the steps. I strain my ears to hear my friends behind me and can only very faintly hear high pitched traces of their conversation.

But when I'm listening to them I am distracted from the world in front of me. And why I don't notice the man that is directly in front of the alleyway that I boost down. We collide with enough force to send both of us sprawling and my glasses are thrown off of my face as my chest hits the ground hard, all the wind is sucked out of my body on impact and I feel like a fish out of water, struggling to breathe in the above world.

I loudly try to suck air back into my body, my breaths making raspy sounds as I feebly try to apologize to the man that I hit. But my voice does not come out as more than a splutter. Without my glasses I can barely see, everything is just blobby, indistinguishable shapes and I truly appreciate how much my sister's gift of glasses have helped me.

Shadows fall behind me and I hear the painting of Pecan which means my friends have arrived. I wonder briefly why they haven't said anything. I start to get my breath back and move my arms in front of me, trying to find my glasses. A blob, a figure, the man I hit places something into my hands and I look up as my glasses go back on and my vision clears.

The face makes my heart summersault and does backflips at the same time. I splitter out onto the concrete, expressing my shocked emotions in a coughing fit.

The man I hit.

He is our only Victor.

Adair Nicanor.

Burly and built like an ox he looks strong as rocks. Strong enough to break me in half. His arms ripple with muscles larger than my heads and are coated in coarse body hair. On his face, there is a scar that goes from forehead to chin, over his left eye which is cloudy and stares unforgiving. There are some injuries even the Capitol cannot repair. Or choose not to. District 12 never gets the special treatment.

He won his games before I was born and I have never seen his tapes played. The Capitol does not let District 12 win very often. Adair won it with brute force and cunning, there was no real competition. Outsmarting the others and being able to take out any tribute in hand to hand. He sabotaged the careers, turning them against each other he was able to take out the fragmented pack.

And now he stares across from me.

"I'm...I'...I'm so sorry." My voice stutters out. Shocked in fear of this older man and that I managed to run into him playing a simple game of manhunt.

He stares down at me, his brutish figure powering over my malnourished one that hasn't hit puberty yet. I desperately want to grow up like him someday. But I can't think about that now. All I can be is locked into that cloudy eye of his.

But he surprises me, issuing a deep sigh his body seems to sag and deflate. He transforms from a villainous man to a tired one. That looks a lot older than his 37 years of age. "It's okay kiddo." He tells me in a rough and gravelly voice.

He places an arm on my shoulder, squeezing it so tight I flinch. He smirks at this, moving his hand up he tassels my hair just like my sister would. His hands are calloused from hard labor and feel oddly rough. But it's not a bad feeling. I haven't felt a mans touch in a long time.

"Are you kids on your way to the reaping?" He looks over his shoulder and addresses this to my friends too, judging by the silence they are just as shell-shocked to see the Victor in front of us. He's known for being a recluse, only coming out when he has to. And here he is, forgiving me for running into him and acting almost fatherly.

"We were playing a game before the reaping. But I think it is time to go over there now." I reply back raspily, my breath has not quite come back from the impact of my landing and my glasses sit slightly crooked, I think the wire has become bent in the fall. At least the glass has not been cracked. I don't know how I would be able to get a new pair.

"Does that game involve hitting into old men?" He asks, a teasing note in his voice that loosens some of the tension that wraps around me like a cobra. Slowly constricting my airflow, almost more than the impact of the floor.

"That's the one," Felix explains from behind me and I groan. He has never learned when to hold his tongue. "Its 10 points for hitting into a Victor, 20 for a Peacekeeper." He throws a cheeky wink in our direction and I feel a hot pink blush cover the freckles on my cheeks at what he is saying.

But Adair seems to find it funny. Erupting into a laugh that sounds like bears and travels all around us. It sounds rough and rarely used.

"Well then. I better make sure you get to the reaping without collecting any more of those points. And I happen to know a shortcut." He throws a wink with his one good eye to me and straightens up, slightly wincing when he puts weight on his left side I feel a stab of guilt pierce my belly.

I walk beside him, and Felix comes and wraps an arm around mine, noticing my sleight of breath. "How do you manage that?" He asks me in a voice barely a whisper, but there is laughter evident on it.

"I don't even know," I tell him honestly. I erupt into laughter of my own and soon our laughter is filling the run-down streets once more. Only this time, it is joined with the imposing presence of our Districts only Victor.

 **Pricilla Winters, 15, District 12.**

On the morning of the reaping I wake in my parent's bed, their heat radiates around the coolness of the morning and I smile as I snuggle under the soft covers of their bed. It's been a long time since I last slept beside anyone.

I woke late last night from a nightmare, promising to go to bed early I fell asleep at nightfall. But in my dreams, I was chased. Large, imposing figures hunted me down and I heard a commentator talking about how poorly I was representing my District in the 189th Hunger Games.

I was chased over sharp, jagged stones and into water that slowed my pace but was shallow enough for me to be able to run. But then one of the figures pounced on me. A brutish figure he crushed the wind out of me and I took in water as I struggled to break the surface with their weight ponding over me.

It was only when the collar of my shirt was grabbed was I pulled to the surface of the water and could breathe again. I took gasps that tasted like salt as fear pumped through my veins. It didn't feel like a dream. It felt like reality had come to play.

I looked at the figure across from me and they transformed from faceless into that of last year's Victor, Bastion Steele. His expression turns from a blank into a malicious intent and I see an evil glint in his eyes. I try to scream but nothing comes out of my lips.

A glint of something reflecting into my eyes blinds me and I look in its direction, It's his famous crescent sword. The one he killed 7 tributes with. My blood runs cold in my veins as I realize I am his next target and I scream myself awake.

I woke in my bed, my chest beating rapidly and a cold sweat has broken out over my body. My bedclothes were completely soaked in the stuff. I got changed swiftly and was too afraid to sleep in my own bed. The shadows seemed to dance a vengeful dance, promising more nightmares if I was to sleep.

So I walked down the hall, shivering despite the warmness of the season and made my way to my parent's room. Burying myself between the two of them my mother wrapped an arm around me and my father sang a soft tune until I fell asleep. No dreams troubled me.

I like to pretend that the reaping doesn't bother me anymore. Now I am 15 this will be my third year at the reaping. Luckily, I haven't known anyone that has been reaped. They tend to be older children that have taken out more tessare than me. But our District is so small we feel the loss no matter who it is.

We support each other when the families sit in the square to watch the clips played by the Capitol the District is by their side. With an arm around the shoulder, a kind word or a gift of food to make it a little easier. When they choose to lock their shutters and grieve for the child the District lets them, dropping flowers and parcels on their doorstep.

We also give our only Victor space, no one blames him for not being able to take the malnourished children from District 12 home. But we all know that he blames himself. Time and space he needs, he's never done a thing wrong in the District. But he scares me a little bit, with his cloudy eye and scar. The Capitol never bothered to make him presentable.

Stretching, I make my way out of the bed. My mother mumbles something but my father continues to snore softly. I wake the earliest of my family, my brothers wake the latest, often chatting into the dark of the night. My little sister has fitful nights of sleep so we let her stay in bed in the hopes of getting a few more minutes. We are all eligible for the reaping today.

A bad joke that goes around the District is that you have lots of kids so when one is reaped you barely notice their absence. It makes me laugh, it's true for my family at least. My parents always wanted lots of children. I think that's why they adopted Cooper, officially he's my brother's twin. But I think we all know he's adopted. All heard my parents talking about it in hushed tones. Even Cooper knows, but he does not mind. He and Karson have the strongest bond I've ever seen. Blood or no blood.

I slip back into my room, now that the shadows are gone, chased away by the faint light of day I feel at ease. The dream flows from my memory like water coming out of a tap and soon I have no recollection about what it held. Just that it was bad.

I open my closet, it holds mine and my sister's clothes. Though she does not share a room with me, she sleeps in a small room that goes off of my parent's room. It's meant to be a large closet, but the darkness helps her sleep better. She's mischief, always stealing our things like a magpie, and hiding them under her bed. We call the closet the dragons den.

We have no hot water so I fill the bath with a coolness that comes from the tap, lighting the stove fire that still has embers from last night I spend the morning transferring hot water from the shove to the tub. My family will use the water after me. Adding they're own hot as they need. But I will do the majority of the work.

When the tub is just warm enough for it not to faintly steam against the air I strip off my clothes and place myself into the water. Baths are for special occasions like the reaping only. Many children go to the reaping dirty, the coal miners homes are never clean. But I like to look presentable.

I dunk my head under the water and blow bubbles in front of me, surfacing I laugh at the feeling of the water against my lips. I wonder what it would be like to be able to swim, I've never done it before. But I've always wanted to. Occasionally, in the Games, there will be water and ill watch wide-eyed as a Tribute dives into the water. Stroking rhythmically they look impossibly fast. I long for that feeling of floating. Of being lighter than air.

When the water stops steaming I get out, toweling myself off with a ragged towel that is in shreds at the ends I quickly dry off, the day has become hot and the warmth embraces my body. In the closet of my room is a light blue dress that I forgot to take into the bathroom with me.

I place it on my body, the dress feeling impossibly light over me and flows as I walk around my room. Parading off my outfit to my teddy who watches unimpressed. On my feet I wear my mother's old shoes, they are silver and I have never seen anything like them before. They make the reaping bearable. Wearing my favorite clothes.

When I leave my room I see that the rest of my family is sitting around the breakfast table. We eat the hash brown grain of tesserae, baked into bread it is hard as coal but fills you up alright. The good food we buy from the market will be served tonight, as a treat for not being reaped, and making us feel better if we know those that do.

I sit across from Cooper who throws me a wink, picking up a hard slice of bread I nibble on the edges. Trying to soften its thick crust. My family does the same and we take a moment to eat in silence. There should be plenty of time for my siblings to bathe, but I feel like my brothers may skip the lukewarm water for mischief before the reaping.

My father clears his throat, at the head of the table he sits, one of his hands is linked with my mother's pale ones and I smile softly. I hope I can find true love like them someday. My siblings look in his direction too.

"I and your mother would just like to say how much we love you all," he says, emotion thick in his voice. His tone grounds me and I realize that he could be losing a child today. Or even two. It is not unheard of for siblings to go into the arena together. But it is very rare. I know that they are saying this now because, if the unheard of happens, the official goodbyes will be impossibly tearful. It's better doing it here. In the comfort of our own home.

I link hands with my mother and sister beside me, my father links with Karson and my sister with Cooper and we are locked into a circle. This is what it means to be a family. I smile up at everyone and my throat is too choked up to say any words. I think the others feel the same way and we sit there, all connected, just enjoying the feeling of each other.

Eventually, it needs to be broken. Mother helps my younger sister, Murphy get hot water for her bath and the twins wander off to get changed and then leave for the square. I give my father an enormous hug before leaving, he smiles back down at me.

With a kiss to my cheek, I am walking out of the house for possibly the last time and my silver shoes lead the way to the square. After my finger is pricked and I am sent onwards I find myself inside of the square. It's not a very nice place. Punishment devices are in the center, carefully blocked out by camera angles no Capitol citizen would ever know.

There's still blood on the large metal post they tie people to whip. No one bothers cleaning it knowing another person will be tied on soon. I'm surprised they can restrain themselves long enough for the reaping to take place.

I shriek in delight as I spot Oliver, Adele, and Gus together. They stand near the back of the square. Outside a bakery that entices with the promise of beautifully bakes cakes and houses made of bread the color of ginger. Boiled sweets are on display, perfect white circles with green and red lines in between. My mouth waters just looking at them.

"Hey, Pricilla!" Oliver yells, his back is leaning against the glass display of the bakery and I smile at him. He wrapped me in a warm hug as I great the others.

We continue a quiet conversation as the square fills up around us. Though it never fills up quite enough. Our small population shows on the television screens across Panem. More than the Capitol would want it to. We even have specially made smaller bowls than the other District, to make it look like there are just as many of our slips in them.

It's only because of how many of us take out tessare that they are filled. I hear even the mayor's daughter has taken some out this year. I heard a rumor that there was a ration increase, but it never reached us. I think this District is just looked over in the eyes of the Capitol.

We are slowly crumbling, just like the buildings inside of our District. Turning black and burned like the bricks and breaking off when touched. There are black scorch marks on the floor of the square, but all of the buildings look clean and fresh like they were rebuilt and the rest of the District was left. I wonder why our District is like that. I'll never know the answer.

When our conversation has faltered we just stay in our circle, trapped in our own silent thoughts. It is always scary just before the reaping. Especially with so few of us. My hands shake a little and Oliver notices. Grabbing my hands in his he squeezes tight. I smile at him and we stay that way until a Peacekeeper comes over and commands us to get to our places.

Oliver kisses one of my hands before letting go. The gesture is so unexpected Adele has to lead me towards the girl area, a blush creeping over my face. "About time." She mutters I blush a shade of deep red. I don't know what to reply to her so it is a relief when our escort walks onto the stage. She's new this year.

An impossibly large person she takes up the space of three of me. In a jumpsuit the color of roses that I see growing outside of the fence and sparkling so brightly in the light I have to squint my eyes. She walks with a bounce to her step that makes the stage wobble and I have to stifle a laugh as she overbalances in heels higher than my ankles and has to grab onto the microphone to stop herself from falling. No one laughs though. We know what the punishment will be. It is all too clearly reminded with the devices in the center of us children.

She announces our mayor like we don't know who he is and he reads off a drab speech with little emotion behind it. He is an old man, the District has stunted his growth like many of ours and you can tell he is giving up hope. He rattles off his speech, struggling to spit out some of the words I feel sadness for the man. The escort shakes her head at him and hot anger pricks at my veins. She has no right not to respect our mayor. We all struggle here.

After he finishes his speech, to an applause-worthy of the man's struggles a video is played. It is projected against the hash bricks behind those on the stage. Our Presidents face appears, her makeup is smudged and she struggles to spit words out. Unlike our mayor, it's not because of age that makes her struggle, but a grief that seems to ebb off of her. She attempts to thank us for the coal that we provide, backbone the power of the Districts. The camera cuts off abruptly as she goes to thank our mayor and our escort moves on as nothing has happened. I feel my lips turning to a frown. That seems off.

But then the escort is dipping her obese hand into the girl's bowl and I don't even have time to hope it's no one I know before she is calling out the game. "Pricilla Winters," she shrikes the name high into the air, letting it soar with the birds above us.

Not the name.

My name.

I square my shoulders back and rapidly blink out the tears starting to form inside my eyes. Adele grabs my hand and tugs me toward her. But I push forward and out of her grip. Not looking back. I walk slowly toward the stage, the too small pool of children having ample room to get out of my way. I don't make eye contact with anyone. Looking at the buildings behind the stage my knees slightly shake.

When I am on the stage I stand in place, continuing to look over heads I keep my expression blank. I can't let any of them know what I'm feeling. Our escort walks over to the boy's bowl and has to dig to pick a name out of the small bowl. The Capitol will use camera tricks to make it appear just as large as the other Districts, but up this close, I see how truly small it is. The population our District is just a few slips.

She picks her name and wobbles back over to the microphone. Clearing her throat in an obnoxious manner she states the name of the male tribute. Flint Fraser. He walks to the stage and I am struck by how scrawny he is. But his eyes gleam a boyish charm. That is until he breaks down, tears rushing down his cheeks he cries noisily. A large lump forms in my throat as he stands next to me, balling his eyes out. I can't look at him or I will cry too.

I continue to stare at the mountains beyond our District as our escort announces our names to the District. "Ladies and Gents I present to you this year's tributes for The Hunger Games! Pricilla Winters and Flint Fraser."

We aren't Tributes. We are sacrifices.

 **Authors note: We have finally done it! Gotten through the reapings and are ripe and ready for The Games! Things will be picking up in pace now and along with our twice a week updates there may be some supprise ones from our friends in The Capitol.**

 **Please keep reviewing the story! It is what keeps me going so please keep it :)**

 **Let me know who you like, who you dislike, and whos opinion changes.**

 **Theres some supprises planned for the next few chapters that im sure will be a shock to Tributes and Mentors alike.**

 **As always,**

 **May the odds be ever in your favour.**


	19. Farewell, I Love You (THE GOODBYES)

**Disclaimer: It is about at this point in the story where some character points you sent me may differ with what is written. Please don't be mad, it most likely won't be anything seriously affecting the character.**

 **Some might of noticed small differences above.**

 **If any character creator has major issues with what I write PM me and we can make sure it doesn't happen again.**

 **There will also be graphic violence and abuse ahead in the story, please keep that in mind.**

 **Ace Platinum, 18, District 1.**

I am not surprised when Tiffany comes in to say goodbye to me. Still shook up from having her name called at the reaping she wraps her arms around my waist and I wrap her into a strong hug.

"It's okay," I tell her, my voice husky with emotion as I remember the panic that I felt when it was her name read out. Thank god the reaping went to plan and Weiss took her place. I lead her backward onto the loveseat that has been placed in this room.

We only have an hour.

I intend to spend the whole time with Tiffany.

Prince won't mind. He slapped me on the back and said goodbye just before I got on the stage and I had dinner with my parents and sister yesterday. They know that I would prefer not to see them until my victory.

I wipe tears out of the corners of Tiffany's eyes and plant a kiss as soft as a butterfly's wings on her forehead. She smiles at this. I bask in her beauty for as long as I can.

She mumbles something into my chest and I have to lean back to catch it.

"What was that?" I ask her, rubbing a hand soothingly around her back.

"I said…." Her voice trails off and she looks downward, not wanting to meet my eyes. Confusion etches itself into my features, what could be wrong?

She chuckles. Planting a soft kiss to my lips she meets my eyes. "I said I understand if you have to play the romance angle in the arena. I know they were talking about it in the academy. If you have to do it to get you home I'm okay with it." She sounds sheepish to be telling me this.

I place my hands around her beautiful face and look right into her eyes. "I'm not playing any angle. I'm not cheating on you. No matter what." Tension I did not realize was there melts from her features and she kisses me harder on the lips. I kiss her back. Trying to remember the way she feels against me.

I break away. "What kind of a boyfriend would I be if I cheated on you?" I ask her, laughter in my voice as I lean in for another kiss.

"I love you," the words are full of a new found passion.

"I love you too."

 **Cassia Slander, 16, District 2.**

I knew that my brother would find me. He still has favors with the high ups in the District. Favors he used me to acquire. But it still shocks me when he comes into the goodbye room. I am perched on top of a pale couch that ruffles at the top.

Waiting for my parents.

He comes in with a manic gleam to his eyes and I see him slip something into the Peacekeepers hands. It glints in the light. I stifle a cry when I realize he just gave the man my most precious pair of earrings. They are family heirlooms.

The Peacekeeper leaves the room with a blank expression on his face as my brother faces me off. His blond hair turns white under the lights of the room and something deep and hard gleams in his eyes. A red glint is hidden in their pale depths.

Just like years ago, darkness emits from his very being. I immediately back up. Going into the corner of the room my barefoot feet trip on the long trails of the dress. He raises an eyebrow at me. A malicious laugh issues from his lips.

"Did you really think you would get away with this?" It's not really a question that comes out of his lips, but venom like a snake.

"I always knew you were a stupid little girl. But not this much so." He slowly steps toward me, he's not shouting and that is the scariest thing.

"You cost me my future. And now I am going to cost you yours." With that he lunges at me, his arms outstretched, going from my throat. I sidestep his lunge, over a potted plant that is foreign and smells of bliss.

My brother comes after me and the plant smashes on the floor. I let out a cry at the noise the pot makes. It reminds me of the sound of my bedroom smashing as my brother took his anger out on those possessions too.

I rush to the door. Banging on it I cry for help from the Peacekeepers that looked away a moment before. Two come in. Younger men they stare coldly ahead as I watch a third older one block the door behind him.

I cling onto the one closest to me. I beg for help from my brother. I can't hurt him. I can't become Orion.

"Grab her." My brother tells them. I look up pleadingly. Surely, he has not paid them off too. Not with a Tribute. I'm not my brothers anymore. I'm the Capitols.

Their arms come down hard, grabbing my biceps their force presses into me enough to crush the muscle beneath. I kick out at the man's legs. But the armor they wear makes my useless and even my career strength cannot match those trained by the Capitol.

I manage to break an arm free, desperately trying to struggle away from the men before a blow connects to my temple. Leaving me reeling. A high pitch scream issues from my lips. This does enough though for the third, older Peacekeeper to come back into the room. He grabs onto my back, keeping me secure in between the three men I feel hot tears rush down my cheeks.

"Oh sister, my sweet sister, you were never going to get away with this." My brother's voice comes from behind me and I feel the Peacekeepers position themselves to my front. The men laugh.

I hear the sound of metal hitting the floor. I know what's coming. My hazy mind shoots fear as the belt flies through the air, striking my back buckle side out I feel it bite into my flesh. Overtop of scars from years of my brother's power. Again and again, my brother's belt flies, carving into flesh.

I feel wet, hot blood cascade down my back. A remarkable thing happens, I stop to feel the pain. I hear the belt move crack I feel my body move on the impact yet I feel nothing. My body goes limp and the Peacekeepers almost drop me with the sudden change. Yet my brother keeps going.

Eventually, though I could not tell you how long.

Long enough for the thick white carpet beneath us to become stained red.

Long enough for my eyes to become heavier than lead balls.

Long enough for me to of given up hope.

He stops.

The Peacekeepers drop my body to the floor. I see my brother pass more shiny objects into their hands, they reflect light into my eyes and it creates dark spots in my vision. Or maybe that's something else.

One of the Peacekeepers says something to my brother as he is prancing out of the room, his shirt and hands slick with blood. He no longer holds the belt. My brother turns at whatever the man said.

His eyes searching for more vengeance.

 **Callum Lennon, 18, District 3.**

Mrs. Lancaster is the first one to visit me. I figured that she would want to be with her daughter, she is destined for the games too. But instead, she kneels on the floor in front of me. Clasping her hands in mine she thanks me.

Over and over again the words thank you are uttered from her lips. The closest thing I have to a mother these days her words cause tears to cascade down my cheeks. First in single drips, then in flowing torrents that won't stop.

She starts crying too and together we hysterically cry to each other. Knowing that this will be our final goodbye. An unofficial mother. And an unofficial son. I have no intention for coming back. She knows.

"Thank you." She tells me, through sobs that shake her body.

"Thank you for saving my girl." Her hands shake in mine and I grip them back tightly. A fierce form of protection for this family that has taken me in courses through my veins. A familiar affection.

"It's the least I can do," I tell her, my deep voice cracking with the words.

"Thank you for everything. I'll save her." I tell her mother.

She tries to dry her tears, she will visit her daughter next. "Thank you," She repeats. The weight of a debt she will never be able to repay on her lips.

When she leaves I bury my face in my hands and sob.

I will be with Wren soon.

 **Blake Calloun, 17, District 4.**

I expect my girlfriend to come through the doors to my goodbye. I had already planned out the words that I would say to her. The promises to be loyal that I would make then break because it was only for sponsors.

I picture how she would taste when I kissed her for the final time. The way I would tell her I love her and all the things that I am supposed to say. How I would hug and kiss her before she would be forced to leave so that there is still time for me to say goodbye to my best friend.

How the scent of sun and sand would carry with her and out of this room. It would remind me of the carefree life that we can make together when I get home. That is the backup plan at least. If I can't have the President. With her, by my side, I will be indestructible. When I am crowned Victor she won't be able to say no.

So, imagine my surprise when it is my girlfriend's mother that walks in.

My eyebrows shoot up when I spot her. Still, in her beach outfit from earlier, it hugs her chest in a way that makes me salivate. Her ginger hair bounces with more life than my girlfriends and playfully teases her waist. Her skin is leathery from all the time spent in the sun, but it looks soft and perfect to touch.

I feel butterflies stronger than any I have experienced around Meri when her mother stops right in front of me. I look up, longing evident on my face now that we are solely in a room together. Completely alone.

She looks back at me with a face that is impossibly hard to read. But her lips look plump and tempting and she walks so close to me that our breaths merge into one. I feel my body ache with desire and I lift one eyebrow at her, it is fueled by electricity that crackles in the air.

She winks back.

That is all it takes to set me on fire.

I crush my lips against hers, she kisses back with as much force as me and it tastes better than I ever expected it to. I pick her body up easily, making my way over to the wall I spread her legs between my torso, using my arms to hold her up against the wall.

Electricity cracks between us and I wonder how I ever could have been with her daughter when it is so good to be with her. Better than anything I have ever experienced before. Better than anyone I have ever had before.

I feel a tug at my pants and they fall around my ankles on the floor.

I've never been a patient person.

 **Caroline Hollyhock, 17, District 5.**

I expect it when my husband comes marching to say goodbyes to me. Anger in his eyes. And hurt. I could have been free. I could have been safe. But instead, I volunteered. I chose this.

I see the anger and pain in his eyes. It reminds me of when I first met him. Depressed at his boring job he was slowly wasting away. Falling into a depression I wanted to fix him. So I did. Marrying him in the process.

"Why did you volunteer?" Anton asks me, his voice etched in hurt and worry. He grabs my wrists in my hands and pulls me closer to him. I know he does not mean to hurt me but his grip is too firm. I yelp and he drops my wrists immediately. Looking shocked and upset.

I don't say anything. My mind is still trying to catch up with my body and what I just projected myself into. I couldn't let it be Alyssa in here, with me saying the goodbye. I just couldn't. I would rather it be me. And I got my wish.

Tears stream down Anton's cheeks and I know I can't cry, the cameras in the station will pick up my tears. They will make me look weak. No one wants to sponsor a weak Tribute. I need to return home. But a single tear drips down my cheek.

"Goddamnit! Answer me!" Anton shouts with a heartbroken whale that sends my heart catering toward him. I need to fix him. But I can't this time.

"Why did you volunteer?" He yells again his voice cracking in his grief. I know he wanted us to live happily ever after together. And damn we were so close. The two of us. I could have been three. Or four. Or five. A happy family.

Nausea rolls out of my body and I open my mouth. Not knowing what I want to say I yell the most honest answer that I have ever given.

"Because I love her!" I yell, my voice shaking.

"I volunteered because I love her!"

Anton's face drops. Confusion shows. Then hurt. In a rush, I realize that is a complete truth and it is what breaks me. It is what makes the tears roll down my cheeks.

Not a heartbroken goodbye from my husband.

But the realization that I love another.

I hear the door to the room open and Anton's heavy booths thumping to the exit. A pause by the door. A look over his shoulder. Cold eyes. A colder expression. Then the boots exit. It is slammed shut by heavy-handed Peacekeepers.

And I am left.

On my own.

For the first time in my life.

Crying on my knees.

 **Esme Layton, 17, District 6.**

I pace the room anxiously. Waiting for my friends to appear. It's taken them too long. I have been in this room with my thoughts. They are wasting precious time. I may never see them again.

But then the door opens and Addison marches in. Behind her is Axel, with a burly arm wrapped around Riley's waste I rush toward him. Pressing my body against his battered one I help Axel place him on the plush couch at the back of the room.

"What were you thinking!" I yell at him. Remembering the way he rushed towards the Peacekeepers when my name was called, without a care in the world about being taken down. The way his body was crushed and beaten underneath a pile of them.

"I was thinking I wasn't going to let you go." He sputters out with a gravelly voice, dried blood coating his now crooked nose. Yet he still manages a cheeky grin that makes me laugh. Wrapping my arms around him I feel my best friend. Regret courses through me of all the nights that I had ditched him for others and how much more time we could have had together if I hadn't been so selfish.

"I'm sorry" I whisper into his ear, so the others won't hear us. They watch over us protectively, like two parents guarding their children. Appreciation for them courses through my veins too.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Riley replies, his eyes sparkling. "Just come home to us, okay?"

"Okay," I tell him, and he kisses my cheek softly. With an intensity that surprises me. I see his eyes go cloudy.

Maddison and Axel come over to us, we all shove up together. Giving Riley and his bruises the most room on the couch. We wrap our arms around each other and I realize that these people are my family now. Our bound is stronger than blood.

They start rushing out all at once all the strategies I should use and how I can do it. I can survive. But I block it out.

Instead.

I listen to Riley's heartbeat as it pulses in his chest.

I'm listening now.

 **Nirvana Ivanov, 18, District 7.**

I stretch out on the floor of the Justice Building. My back aching from the whiplashes my chest is on the cool ground. The Peacekeepers were rough when taking me to this room. Digging fingers into the marks that they carved into my back with their harsh whisp I barely had the energy to complain.

Maybe that's why I'm on the floor.

I couldn't make it to the couch.

The door creaks open and heavy boots come into the room. The worn out boots of my uncle. I sit up, resting my back gently on the wall I hiss at the pain that I feel at the contact. He sits down next to me, propping his legs in front of him there is a moment where we are both left in our thoughts.

"Ben told me what happened. It shouldn't hurt your chances. If anything it will make you look like a fighter." I snort. My uncle will forgive Ben for anything. He is his protege.

"Look, I know you don't like him that much but he will be your mentor so you'll have to learn how to work with him." My uncle's voice turns hard and I know this isn't a request.

I nod.

He's making a good point. I know Ben probably offered to pay my father off of working. But I know my uncle wouldn't let him. Even if he is slowly killing himself with the labor. That gives me an idea.

"Can we make a deal?" I ask my uncle. His eyebrows furrow in suspicion, he didn't expect me to say this. Not in the last few moments we have together.

"Sure." His gravelly voice seems to sink into the ground as he stares me down. Even if he is old, he's still got a strongest to him that is consistently found in much younger men.

"When I return home you stop working and come live in the Victors Village with me."

His face drops.

"I can't do that," legitimate regret in his voice.

"Why not?"

He takes a deep breath of air, noisily sucking it into his body. "Because our family's got a trend. A year after my father retired he died of sickness, same with my grandfather and his father before him. This family does not do good with sitting around. When I stop I'm afraid I'll die too." His voice ends on a thoughtful note.

I wasn't expecting that answer and sit into a stunned silence. Both lost in our own thoughts, reveling in our family's history.

My uncle breaks it.

"But then again I've never known anyone in our family to get reaped. So tell you what. When you come back home I'll spend a lot more time with you. Go on more part-time work."

My face breaks out into a smile and I grab my uncle in a crushing hug. We stay that way for a while longer. This is not goodbye. This see you later.

 **Violet Mercury, 14, District 8.**

I sit on an elegant lace couch, surrounded by roses. I guess someone thought that they would make the room less sad. It didn't work. The room reeks of despair. I will not win the games. I know this.

The door opens with a loud creak and Jasper rushes in. He sits next to me, wrapping his arms around my body I violently shake. The emotions are just too much for me to bare. I don't know where to look.

"It's okay." He whispers into my ear, taking a soft hand he strokes my cheek gently. As if trying to comfort a sick child he whispers a thin tune into my ear. I try to believe him, closing my eyes I focus on his tune and the words that he says.

But it's impossible to believe.

"I love you," I mumble into my shirt, trying to convey all of the feelings that I have for him in just a few words.

"I love you too," He tells me his deep voice huskier than I have ever heard it before. Our hands find each other and we are locked into a connection deeper than just two teenagers. It goes back further than our Districts, further than the world we know. The connection is stronger than anything I've felt before.

And that is why it's so heartbreaking to be ripped away from it so cruelly.

I lean my forehead against him and express my emotions the only true way I know how. I cry. Loud sobs wrack my body and Jasper starts crying too and we become hysterical. Locked with each other we cry out all of our feelings.

We are still crying when the Peacekeepers come back in to take him away.

 **Kalista Stone, 17, District 9.**

Bonnie, Lincoln, and Ryder come bursting into the room I have been placed in. Immediately they turn the silence into a bustle of noise and grief as they wrap me in a crushing hug.

"It will be okay," I find myself being the one to console them as tears fall from all of their eyes. I can't let myself cry. There will be cameras at the station and I cannot let any sponsors think that I am weak. I'm stronger than the usual tribute in this District. I might have a chance if I can just catch a couple of rich Capitolites attention.

"I guess we were all wrong about the predictions," Lincoln jokes. A lame attempt to lighten the mood that causes me to laugh as I remember our tradition this morning. It feels like it was so long ago. Another giggle comes from my lips and the others look at me like I have three heads. It causes me to giggle more.

"You all may have been wrong. But I was right." The words flow easily from my lips and their faces drop with realization. The room goes silent.

"You predicted yourself?" Bonnie asks, shock evident in her voice and the boys look on. I broke an unspoken rule. Maybe this was my punishment for it. But if it was a punishment I never would have had the feeling to write my name down in the first place. This is fate.

"And I predicted Cole too. I predicted Barrick." I'm not sure what relationship the younger boy has to the older one. I take a moment to puzzle it over. Barrick pushing to try to get to the younger boy, the expression of immense grief on Coles' face when he saw it. The wedding band on his finger.

"They're engaged!" I shout out, my voice full of confusion.

"Who?" Ryder asks, in hysterics.

"Cole and Barrick," my statement is true. I know it is. And I see my own confusion mirrored on the others face. Being gay has never been accepted in any of the Districts. Taboo even in the Capitol. I've heard rumors of citizens all across Panem being killed for it, not by the government, but by the citizens that cling to the old ways. Even the Capitol. We copy behaviors from those high up.

Bonnie looks down sheepishly, remembering the rash goodbye kiss we shared the moment after my name was called out. It will of been captured by one of the cameras that the Capitol has pointed in every direction. I smile at her, grabbing one of her hands in mine I trace circles on her palm. "It's okay," I tell her. She smiles softly back.

"You got to come home," Ryder tells me, and Lincoln and Bonnie nod in agreement.

"I promise I'll try my best," it's not what they want to hear. But it's the truth.

 **Trafalgar "Trav" Zaun, 15, District 10.**

I wait in the plush building that the Peacekeepers placed me in as soon as the formalities of the reaping were done. Tributes are only necessary when the cameras are on. I sit, waiting for someone to visit.

Anyone.

My family does not come.

I am left alone. The time ticking down. I try not to feel upset. My father will of banned my family from saying goodbye to me. A cruel punishment. But we are all too afraid of the wrath to fight it. I do not blame my family for that.

He's the man that even before I came out with my identity would beat me bloody for the smallest of mistakes. A broken plate. A muddy floor. All ended with me crying myself to sleep in pain that felt like it would never go away.

I hope that my younger siblings won't have to experience it. But I know my father. He's the reason we all are who we are. I'll hope for them. Up until the very last moment of the arena. A tear slips down my cheek at the thought of never being able to see them again and the empty room closes in.

I curl up on the couch that is on the back wall of the plush room. Curling my knees into my chest I try to stay strong. All I can hear is the pounding of my heartbeat.

When the door creaks open I look up eagerly as a figure enters the room.

It's Brody.

My closest friend.

He has a black eye and a limp. He sits next to me silently on the couch. "What happened?" I ask concern is too evident in my voice. If I can get lost in his problems I won't be as concerned for my own.

"My brother didn't want me to come," he answers simply.

 **Poppy Northrop, 15, District 11.**

My mother rushed into the room I have been placed in to say my final goodbyes. Tears streaming down her cheeks she does not look like the fierce mayor that she sells to the Districts. My father joins her, and together they wrap me in a hug stronger than I have ever felt with them before.

I feel an immense love of my family rush over me and it brings me to tears as I stare at the two people I love most in the world. I will be leaving them. For the last time. There's no point pretending like I can win. And neither of them try to force that idea on me.

"Can you two make me a promise?" I ask them, emotion thick in my voice. My final request.

"Anything," my father breathes. My mother is too choked up to speak but she nods along, taking a hand in mine she sends a silent promise.

"Look after Harvests family. His little sister should never have to experience this," my voice breaks and fresh sobs wrack my body. We are all too choked up with emotion to be able to sound coherent.

"We'll look after them," my mother replies. A fierce determination at the thought of the family I have become so close to. It's hard enough for me to be going into The Games with my best friend. I couldn't bear knowing that his family would plummet without him, and me to help the income.

"We are both incredibly proud of the young woman you have become," my father tells me. Stroking a strand of hair out of my face he places a hand on my cheek. Just like he used to do when I was a little girl.

"We love you so much," my mother tells me, clasping her hands in mine.

"I love you all so much too. I love you to the moon and back," they smile at me and I smile back in a heartbroken notion of goodbye. I will try. I will try my best to get back to the people that I love. But I can't quite make myself believe that I will be able to.

Harvest would say that I'm always full of surprises.

I hope that I surprise myself this time too.

 **Pricilla Winters, 15, District 12.**

When Oliver comes in on his own I know that something has changed between us. A year older, a lot prettier. I always thought he was too out of my league to care. But he's not. He does care. And that's why its impossibly hard to bear this realization when I am being taken to my death.

We sit together, choosing the floor over a couch that has been placed in the room by the Capitol. It's too perfect. Too pristine. It reeks of what I will turn into as soon as I leave my District. I am not ready to start that now.

We stare at each other an intimate new light it is almost like we will never have enough time to soak up each other's features. Going on a limb I stretch a handout, I trace my hand down Oliver's face. Feeling how it feels under my hand. His plump lips, his soft brows, the traces of pimples on his forehead and the wispy hair he has on his chin.

He reaches out an arm too and places a delicately soft hand on my face. Tracing my features the way I do him and we move closer together, our breaths merging we inhale each other. His smells like peppermint, dirt, and something distinctly boyish.

When he leans his face towards mine it is only a moment's hesitation before I lean mine inwards too. Our lips connect with a low thumb of passion that makes them tingle. My head spins and I melt into the feeling of him. I know that this will be the only time I will be able to feel this. So I savor the kiss for as long as I can get away with. I can tell he doesn't mind.

Eventually, we go up for air and I smile at him, he smiles back and his boyish grin lights up his face as I have never seen it before. This is how I remember him. And this is how I will remember the feel of his lips as I lean back in for another kiss.

 **Authors note: I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I hope it didnt get too repetitive but I really wanted to include a Tribute from each District... I probably should of combined the goodbyes with the reapings but shhh we can't go back now.**

 **As always, let me know what you think.**

 **Your reviews keep me going so they are vitally important for the story to continue to be written. Let me know if your opinions of any charectors shifted. I always love seeing reviews with those sections of how they feel about each charector.**

 **As always,**

 **may the odds be ever in your favour.**


	20. A Night Of Surprise

**Bastion Steele, 19, District 1.**

Bastion meets his Tributes in the doorway of the luxurious train that will take them to the Capitol. He leads his Tributes into a plump sitting room, it makes their eyes open wide. Even compared to One, this train is more luxurious than anything the Tributes have ever known.

They relax onto a couch, the two mentors on one and the two Tributes on another. They size each other up. The mentors coolly, full of authority. The Tributes slightly apprehensive, these two Victors were not their first choice of mentors from the overflowing pile of the District.

Bastion won his Games ruthlessly. Killing 7 Tributes and helping with countless others his kill count is the highest of any Victor in the past 50 years. He is a legend in the Capitol. But in the District, he is shunned. He does not own his win. Instead, many find him walking aimlessly around the District at night, large bags under his eyes.

The female Victor is also special. At 42 she is older than Weiss would have liked in a mentor. But she won her Games by playing smart. Taking minimum kills for herself she kept those in her alliance happy. Before turning on them prematurely. The male from One was killed earlier in the Games so she took no remorse in slitting the rest of the Careers throats as they slept.

She affected the alliance for the next year of the Games. No one trusted One. But no one blamed her. They were getting ready to turn on each other anyway. And there were plans for District Two to take her out the next day that she overheard.

The mentors look at their Tributes approvingly. Both are well trained and determined. They have read their case files from the training center and know what they are capable of. The mentors have no worries, there will be a Victor from One this year.

"Let's get ready to watch the rest of the reapings." Bastion says, his voice gravelly and powerful the others nod along to their words. Bastion makes eye contact with the boy he is to mentor, Ace. He feels remorse at what the boy is going to go through and wishes for a better life for him. But Bastion has a job to do. And something to prove. He is determined to get the boy home.

He gets up suddenly and mumbles that he will be right back as he leaves the room, going into his bedroom briefly he spotted a trace of golden hair going past the compartment he was staying in.

He finds an Avox tending to his sheets. She is beautiful. The same girl as last year as he expected. And the Victory tour. Her vivid golden hair is tied up with her uniform but still peeks out, showing a vibrancy that Bastion has only ever seen with District 4.

Her eyes caught his attention straight away. A mix of teal with a swirling green design inside they are like nothing he has ever seen before. A small tattoo is on her left wrist, slightly poking out underneath the long sleeved dress shirt that she wears. It is of a Trident.

She looks up as he enters the room. He slides closed the door behind him and her eyes light up in alarm as he locks it.

He makes his way over to her. "The cameras are off, I had them deactivated," he tells her. Immediate relief floods through her features and she relaxes. He walks toward her. "We don't have much time." He tells her, it was risky to do it now. But he couldn't stop himself. Longing courses through his veins.

It has been months since his Victory tour. He doesn't know where she goes when she isn't stationed on the train. He is afraid to know. He moves his hand in a way that is still foreign, despite practicing it for weeks prior. All mentors are supposed to have a special talent. There was much surprise when Bastion wanted his to be able to learn a second language. Sign language.

 _I missed you._

His hands speak for his lips.

 _I missed you more._

She mines back slowly so he can understand her. Admiration lights up her eyes for what he has done for her. They both know the risk they run by doing this. But both of them know that it is worth whatever punishment would be given.

Bation places his rough hands around her cheeks and kisses her with all of the passion from the months that he could not. She kisses him back with just as much force and before the two of them know, they are on top of his bed.

They get carried away and her shirt comes off, he runs his hands around her belly, causing her to make a soft whistling noise that sounds beautiful. It is as close as she will ever get to talking. But when her hands go to remove his shirt Bastion has to pry himself away, panting. "I need to get back," worry is in his voice as he realizes he has spent too long. But he can't make himself regret it. Not for one second.

She nods, her eyes sad, "come tonight," he tells her. She nods, a smile on her lips as she leans up to kiss him again. They lock together for a moment longer before he leaves the room, fast walking back to his Tributes and fellow Victor.

"We had to pause it for you." Armani, his fellow Victor states, annoyance dripping from her voice.

"Sorry," Bastion replies, sinking back into the couch next to her he hopes that she can't feel the way his heart is accelerated inside of his chest. His Tributes look pissed off and he smiles at them, this takes them back. Bastion is never seen in a good mood. Armani rolls her eyes at the young mentor, confused but having an understanding of his mood swings as she presses play.

We should go straight to District One. But instead, we are shown the Justice Building steps inside of District Two. Bastion feels his eyes open wide and he looks at Armani for guidance only to see her expression as shocked as his.

"What's going on?" Weiss asks, pissed off she is missing out on her moment of fame.

A man is lead out, his white blonde hair soaked with blood from injuries all across his body. His pale eyes are cold and hard. Like a Victors. Three Peacekeepers are marched out with him, still, in uniform, they are marked with similar injuries. All of their hands are bound in front of them.

The man looks directly into the camera and smiles a cruel smile, he tries to lunge at it, his bound hands in front of him. But he held back by Peacekeepers that hold onto him with grips like steel. He is shoved to the ground, his face hits it hard when no one bothers to stop it. But the man just laughs a manic laugh despite the pain he must feel. He makes Bastions blood run cold.

A voiceover commentates. "This man has committed treason against Panem. Harming a Tribute." There is an instantaneous uproar from those sitting around the room in the train.

Armani gasps.

"How is that possible?" Weiss asks, confusion in her voice.

"Kill the traitor!" Ace yells, fury in his voice.

Basion just looks cold and hard ahead.

"The three Peacekeepers helped him, and have committed treason too. They will all face the same punishment." With that, the voice cuts off and the sound of the square can be heard.

The District yells obscenities at the men and Peacekeepers have to make a wall to keep them back. Four Peacekeepers line up behind the men. A badge on the one behind the man with the blond hair and blood running from his lips shows that he is the head Peacekeeper for their District. They don't usually get a lot of action inside of Two.

After a moment of silence, simultaneously they fire shots into the back of the heads of the men. The sound of the bullets causes Bastion to jump in his seat and Armani to shriek, they sound like the cannons inside of the arena.

With that, the camera cuts to black.

"Will this affect our chances of allying with Two?" Ace asks, his mind already going into the Games.

Bastion takes a deep breath. He has never seen anything like this before. From the looks of Arami's face neither has she. "No, It shouldn't. They said injured not dead. We will connect with Two in the Capitol and find out what's happened." As soon as Bastion finishes speaking the television lights up with the sound of the Capitol anthem and he relaxes into his seat.

This is how it's supposed to go.

They all let out a simultaneous sigh of relief as the commentator Drusus Lionella appears. A tall man he is the face of the Games in the Capitol. Sporting a beard that has been carved into an intricate pattern and dyed bright silver and hair dyed a deep shade of blue. He wears a dark blue suit with a crimson dress shirt and pocket square. He is a handsome man, seemingly untouched by the cosmetics of the Capitol.

"Welcome to this year's reapings!" he announces to a live audience. "Now I have a special surprise for you all. Organized by our Head Game Maker Aetius Valter!" The audience erupted into applause whooping and screaming. Bastion looks again at Armani, she looks blank. Bastion realizes she has no idea what is happening either and swears inwardly. Of course, the first year to mentor things doesn't go to plan. Bastion ignores the questioning look that Ace throws his way. Instead, the young man's eyes remain fixed on the television screen.

Drusus plays it out, snickering with the audience before announcing what everyone is dying to hear. "This year cameras were placed in the Justice Buildings of every District as the Tributes said goodbye to them. Clips will be played along with the Tributes reapings!" The audience goes wild at that and shouts almost as loud as they did when they saw Bastion crowned Victor.

"I hope that isn't going to cause us any issues," Arami addresses to the Tributes. They look shocked that their intimate lives are about to be broadcasted but both shake their heads.

"Young love gains sponsors, right?" Ace jokes, a smile on his face.

"As long as its decent," I joke back. Ace looks shocked at the joke but then shoots me a wink.

"Weiss?" Arami asks, wanting a heads up.

"No, nothing that will cause issues," she states confidently.

Arami relaxes. "I'm sure it will cause issues for some," she says, a hint of laughter in her voice. They sit back as the reapings start to play. Bastion is the happiest he has been since arriving back to his District. He only hopes that he can stay that way for a little longer.

 **Authors note: I know I say this a lot. And I will again. But these characters will prove a further plot! As what it is? You will just have to wait and see...**


	21. Connections (TRAIN RIDES)

**Authors note:**

 **I re-read this chapter and realized it was full of mistakes so it is being re-uploaded as the fixed version. Sorry about that!**

 **Weiss Forge 18, District 1.**

I leave the Justice Building with my face looking hard and immaculate. There were no tears at my goodbyes. My mother straitened the necklace she made me, I joked that she was going to become overwhelmed with orders after the reaping. My father took me aside, giving me last minute advice.

My little sister squealed in excitement about what I was going to do. A slight sadness that she wouldn't be seeing me for a while but total confidence in my ability to win I ran across the room tossing her hair as her laughter light up the old and dreary building. We are all in high hopes. We have the most recent Victor.

My father is not a mentor this year so is not required to come to the Capitol with us. "Don't get distracted. Focus on your goals," he tells me with a steady voice and proudness in his eyes. I won't let him down. There will be a second Victor in the family soon.

Blake was the final one to say goodbye. All traces of earlier jealousy gone he came in with his face light up and excited for me. No words of advice we're given, no sappy goodbyes said, instead we joked around until he had to go. Then a tight goodbye hug was paired on a kiss on the cheek, a departing gift from him.

Now, I am marched across the square. A few people have waited outside and cheer for me as I smile at the citizens of my District. I wave back and feel euphoric with the praise they give me. One cheeky boy even throws a rose at me, I catch it and wink back at him. Feeling like the Capitol is with me already I whoop at those in the square and they roar back. The sound of their cheering feels like raw power coursing through my veins.

I see my fellow Tribute, Ace come out from the Justice Building a little behind me and I throw a wink over my shoulder. He doesn't show that he has noticed the gesture. Keeping his eyes locked with a beautiful woman about my age. I know they share something. My charms will not work on Ace.

I stay smiling at my District, knowing that the cameras will lap it up just as much as they will lap up Ace's in love angle. He will make a strong alley. I stay smiling until we reach the train station, pausing for cameras to take their final pictures I sense Ace to look ahead at them. Just like me.

 **Talia Lancaster, 15, District 3.**

The flashing lights of the cameras make me uncomfortable and have to keep my eyes partially shut. They glare and flash, creating spots in my vision. My cheeks are not teary, instead, I look detached. That's what I'm trying to do. Detach from this reality. I like the one I made up in my head better. Where I walked away from the reaping without my name being called. Where my honorary brother didn't volunteer.

I look at him from the corner of my eyes, his eyes are bloodshot and his cheeks puffy. I did not expect that from him. I wonder who came to say goodbye to him that caused that reaction. He has no biological family. Only friends and my family. But he stands proud, looking directly into the camera glasses he puffs out his chest and tries to make his body seem more powerful than it is. And it works. Lean muscles can be seen.

Eventually, the train doors open and I rush into them. Placing one foot in front of the other I try not to stumble with the large black spots that seem to of taken over my vision due to the cameras. I collapse into the first chair I see and place my head in my hands. This is real. I'm going into the games. I feel someone place their hand around my back and melt into it, releasing it must be Callum.

"Well, that was exciting!" Our mentors high Capitol voice rings around the carriage.

"Yes, two new kids going into the arena is always exciting," a voice I don't know is dipped in sarcasm and I look up to see my mentor. Mimi Seaiqa. She won her Games at 18, like most of the Tributes in District 3 she used her intelligence to win. Neither me of Callum possess that level of intelligence.

Hot anger runs through my veins as I think of Callum volunteering and his soothing hand on my back infuriates me. I jump up from the chair, turning on him. "Why the hell did you volunteer?" My voice is sharp and rings loud in the carriage. I don't care. He shouldn't be here.

He looks at me with sympathy in his eyes, not trying to stand he stays sitting. "To get you home," he says simply. My heart sinks in the confirmation of something I already knew and I don't know weather to be grateful or impossibly angry at this boy.

"I don't want you to die for me. I never asked for this!" I yell at him, angry tears forming a the corner of the eyes and a bubble of laughter comes out of my lips. "You could be safe!" I fall to my knees and grab the shirt he is wearing. "You could be safe."

Fears fall from his eyes too as wraps me in a hug. I start to fight him off before the tears become too much and my body becomes limp. "I'm here to keep you safe. To get you back home."

 **Carolyn Aquana, 17, District 4.**

We sit across from our mentors in a sitting room more luxurious than anything I have seen before. But I've never been one to truly appreciate luxury. I prefer hard earned and hard warn. I like to see that something has got its use out of it. This room looks brand new. Like it's never been used before.

Avoxes line the sides of the room, dressed all in black they are ready to cater to our every need. I don't feel any sympathy for them. They deserve their punishment. They should count themselves lucky that they did not hang from a noose like the boy I caught stealing my fathers pearls. I'm sure some of them are here for stealing from the Capitol. I think hanging is a better punishment.

Our mentors are Marvolo O'dair and Alice Dunbar. They won their games with a years gap between them. Winners of the 173rd and 171st games. Both won at 16. Marvolo is extremely handsome, with tanned skin and bronze hair his eyes are sea green. As stunning as I have ever seen. Alice has the typical blonde hair of the District and is attractive in her own right, with emerald green eyes. It was their son who was called out at the Reaping.

I guess that means they owe Blake. But someone would of volunteered no matter what. With the rate that the O'dair's volunteer there must be something to it. But I will never be able to ask. That is a private family matter. Just like my fathers black and blue fists.

We settle into the couches to watch the reapings. I sit on the floor, the carpet is soft enough and I can feel the train moving underneath me. It creates a sensation like being on a boat back home. It helps to calm me. And I don't want to be near Blake. Not with his reputation and the way he sprawls out on the couch like he doesn't have a care in the world. He's over confident and cocky. That will get him killed.

He looks down at me, smiling something I'm sure he thinks is seductive. I know he has a girlfriend that he claims to love. But you wouldn't know it from the way he eyes up anything vaguely female. I even saw him staring at some of the Avoxes. Something tells me he is not used to anyone saying no.

When the television bursts to life we immediately focus. I grab a small notepad that I had an Avox bring me earlier. But we all watch in shock as an execution takes place. "Will the alliance still be on?" The words are from my lips before I can comprehend what I am saying. If the girl from their District has been injured beyond repair she will be no use for the alliance. Both the meteors look shocked and Marvolo abruptly gets up.

"Pause it," he yells over his shoulder to Alice and she does what he says, chewing her lip. I notice it start to blood quickly, it must be an old injury.

"Has anything like this happened before?" I ask her, the shock still evident in my voice. The screen was paused just after the men were shot. They are all on the ground. But there is no blood yet. They could be mannequins.

"Never," she replies. Blake whistles long and slow, the sound irks me but I strangely relate to it. This has certainly got us off to a rocky start. After a few minutes of silence even the Avoxes are looking tense.

That is until Marvolo bursts back in, running a hand through his bronze hair he steps in front of the television addressing us. "The alliance is still on. The girl from Two is being treated by the Capitol. She is unconscious but stable. She will make a full recovery." I don't feel much at that. There is some relief knowing the alliance is stable. Yet a competitor down already would of been a plus.

"Now, let's watch the reapings," he says, sitting next to Alice again he rests his head on her shoulder. That is before the announcer, Drusus Lionella drops another surprise on us. The goodbyes will be televised. My mouth drops open. I look over to Blake and see a mixture of amusement and worry on his expression.

"Oh god," Alice whispers, judging by our expressions. Marvolo pauses the television again.

"Tell me now what you did," his voice is not angry exactly. But its not friendly either. His eyes lock with mine. It's not a big deal I tell myself. So why does it feel that much to me? I take a deep breath.

"I kissed a boy," I tell him honestly, my stomach dropping. Blake erupts into a booming laugh behind me. I scowl at him.

"You're fine," Alice tells me, throwing Blake another scowl she focuses on me. "Plenty of people kiss boys, I kiss this one the whole time," she issues to Marvolo and he laughs at her. Placing a kiss on her cheek. I nod. My stomach still throwing somersaults at the idea my private life is going to be plastered on all of Panem.

"Now, what did you do?" She asks Blake.

He looks at her with a beaming grin on his face.

"I made love with my girlfriend and her mother."

Alice's face drops.

"At different times, obviously."

 **Oliver Apollo, 17, District 5.**

With Drusus's shock announcement and the shock of an execution I am tuned into the reaping. I sit next to my mentor, Joshua. The girl who got reaped with me sits with her mentor on the other coach. We haven't really talked since we were both reaped. Well she volunteered. Then turned up for the cameras with tears streaming down her cheeks. Then again, so did I.

We watch as the two volunteers from One are chosen. The male Tribute looks huge, and deadly. But something about him doesn't seem pampered. Just determined. The female from the District however does look pampered, a look at her last name shows that her father is a Victor. I snort. I hope he isn't mentoring her.

It turns out that the goodbyes are going to be posted in a different cut tomorrow and I can practically taste the disappointment from the Capitol about it. But they will be fresh in their minds for the Chariot rides.

We bring all our attention to District Two's reaping. Insanely curious about the female Tribute who was attacked. She catches my attention. But for a different reason entirely. She is beautiful, more beautiful than anyone I have ever seen before. Smudged makeup almost looks like warpaint on her and her dress hugs her body in all the right ways. Her eyes have a distant, far away look and they are stunning. Ocean blue with an even darker blue rim around them.

The only other time I've seen anything like them was the woman from District Four who was caught by the Capitol. Her swirling teal and green was like nothing I have ever seen before. She had blonde hair. And a Trident tattoo. She is the reason I am here. I would rather be dead than an Avox. And in the business it could only lead one way.

I watch the girl elegantly get to the stage and wonder who would want to harm her. There must be a reason why. Then the male from their District is called and my blood runs cold. If I thought the boy from One was massive he is in a whole new league. A dark tattoo runs over his shoulder but you can barely see it, he is coated in blood.

It's hot, thick blood that seems fresh. I know this can't be a stunt they put on. He looks arrogant, the blood dripping as he makes his way up to the stage. Muscles bigger than anyone's that I have seen before rippling across his body. Joshua lets out a low whistle and I make eye contact with my District partner, my own fear is mirrored in her eyes.

"You'll have to watch out for the careers," Joshua states needlessly and I swallow a hard lump in my throat. It suddenly got real. And hit me like a truck. I am going to be pitted up against these people inside of the arena. I better learn fast.

 **Jerry Kapper, 15, District 6.**

I never thought I would ever experience the luxury that I now feel around me. The beautiful train. The feel of its movement on the tracks. Even the smells of fresh hot food cooking and the way that the smells wrap around my head, enticing me to eat.

I sit in a plush armchair, a blanket softer than anything I have felt before wrapped around my body and a drink that is hot and tasted ricker than anything I've ever had before. A fluffy cream is on top of it, sprinkled with chocolate and it has these things they call marshmallows inside of it that taste like pure goodness. You would not be able to wipe the smile off of my face when drinking it.

That is until I see the competition.

My smile is wiped off after we are through all of the Careers and suddenly my drink tastes just too sweet. I can sense that my partner keeps looking across at me but I am afraid to meet her gaze. Intimidated by the older women since I saw her in my brother's bed this morning.

I almost don't want to watch the rest.

A large boy from District 5 is called and I realise that the outliers are going to be different this year. My partner Esme is called and her beauty is almost unheard of from District 6. That and the wild look in her eyes that intimidates me. From District 7 there is also another large boy, he limps to the stage but looks tough. The boy from District 9 is pretty, and the girl looks like a fighter. The two from District 11 obviously know each other.

By the time it's over I look awkwardly at my feet. I know this can't be the end. But the other Tributes intimidate me more than I could ever admit. I need to start playing smart. While the women from my District is scary she looks like a fighter.

So, when our mentors tell us to go to bed I follow her out, her doorway is before mine so I stop her just as she enters it.

"Hey, I'm Jerry," I tell her, stretching my hand out the way I know my brother would want me to I look up to her tired face.

She looks me over, looking impossibly tired. "Esme," she tells me, holding out a hand she greets mine softly. I feel a blush light my cheeks and on impulse ask her something I have been dying to since the start of the reaping.

"So, are you my brother's girlfriend?" I ask slightly awkwardly, she looks confused at the question before recognition lights up her face. I look like my brother.

She stares back at me with a mixture of emotions on her face. "No, I'm not," she finally tells me and an awkward silence hangs in the space between our bodys. I nod. I expected that answer. It makes me feel less bad about what will have to happen.

"Goodnight," I tell her strongly, she returns the wish in a mumble as I stroll down to my room. I run my hands across the soft paneling that is on the walls and hum a quiet tune to myself. These games will be tough. But they are not the end.

 **Willow Ashes, 16, District 7.**

A stony silence settles over us once the reapings have finished showing. We stare at the television, not quite believing what this year has lined up for us. It's a bad one. Even our mentors agree that the careers this year look more vicious than ever. They already have the Capitals attention.

I and Nirvana looked strong was we walked to the stage. He looked like a fighter, but his injuries will wear him down. I looked like I couldn't believe what is happening. He's wrapped up now, the Avox's brought some bandages and some sour smelling creme. He looks relaxed, chatting with one of our mentors, Ben.

It's clear they know each other, from Ben's shocked cry when Nirvana was reaped. I think that it's Nirvana's uncle that helps to train children incase they are reaped. Marc used to talk about him like he was some kind of legend.

Our mentors tell us to get to sleep and we walk separate ways to our rooms. Mine is before Nirvana's but I follow him down, he turns, raising his eyes at me. "Yes?" He asks me, his voice gravelly and hard. But something about it makes me intrigued to know more and I feel some butterflies gnaw lightly at my stomach.

I take a deep breath. "Would you be open to an alliance?" My breath comes out rushed and for a moment I don't think he understood what I said. But he pauses, looking me up and down.

"Can you do anything?" He asks, curiosity in his voice.

"I'm strong. We'll not as strong as you but I can hold my own. I'm fast. And I know how to use an ax." He looks thoughtful, gnawing on his bottom lip. Suddenly, his expression changes. He looks tired and in pain and like the thing that he needs the most is to sleep.

"If you don't slow me down we can ally. But I'm not waiting for you in the arena." He tries to make his voice sound hard but really it just comes out as tired. I nod at him, extending a hand out I offer him mine.

After a moment of deliberation, he takes it.

"Goodnight ally," I tell him.

"Goodnight."

With that, he walks into his room and I walk up the hall to mine. My mentor, Ewa appears in front of me. "Smart choice," she says before walking off to her room. I smile to myself, I am already playing the Game.

My room blows me away. A huge panel on one side shows the pristine forests just like at home and sniffing the air I can smell the scent of pine. In the middle of the room is the largest bed I have ever seen. I sit on the edge of it, peeling off my ill-suited reaping dress I let it get lost in the shaggy carpet of the floor.

The bed is softer than velvet and I run my hands over it before I maneuver my body to the top and under the covers. It feels softer than clouds under it and I close my eyes. A small sliver of hope lights me up.

I have an ally.

And a strong one at that.

 **Weft Loomis, 15, District 8.**

I wake, naked, I stripped off the dirty garments from my District last night. My hands have scabbed over from when I skinned them yesterday morning spooking Weaver. It feels like it was so long ago now. That I woke up in my bed sneezing.

I get out of the soft bed I slept in, stretching out my limbs I feel no need for the tears from yesterday. I need to continue moving on. I walk into what I assume is the bathroom off of the side of my room. Its luxury makes my jaw drop. A pristine shower takes up a large portion of the room, and in the center lies a bathtub bigger than my bed at home.

I walk up to the shower and the doorway opens automatically for me. My eyebrows shoot up as a keypad comes down, showing symbols and different options. I pick some that look nice and end up having a strong spray hotter than I have ever felt before but better than anything I have experienced. Soup that smells sweet and sharp covers my body and I pick up a toothbrush that has appeared next to me. It automatically turns on and I only have to move it around my mouth it scrubs for me. A grin bigger than anything I could have imagined lights up my face at the extraordinary reality that is the Capitol.

When I finally get out of the shower my skin is old and wrinkly. A new sensation. Stepping on the bathmat fans come down and I am tried to warmth. I feel like the clothes that we hang up outside, when we take them in after an especially hot dau they are warm to the touch. So am I.

I strut out to the mentors, momentarily forgetting the danger that I am in for the luxury that I am experiencing. It is once in a lifetime. I walk out to find the mentors Burton and Lea already sitting across from each other on a large dark dining table. I collect food from a large buffet across from them.

I pile sweet smelling foot onto my plate potatoes that are in a kind of thick orange sauce, bread smothered with butter so much that it drips off the loaves, fried meat that smells better than anything I've ever smelled before. Thin bread with unknown sweetness inside and a large heaped mug of something they call hot chocolate which has a thick layer of cream on top. I sit next to my mentor before I dig in. He laughs at the gobsmacked expression on my face as I taste something better than I have ever had before.

"Where's Violet?" I mumble through my mouthful, it comes out barely audible but I see frowns crease the corners of the two mentors smiles.

"Coming, I hope," Lea says, displeasement in her voice as she nibbles on one of the pastries I nod at this. She looked very shocked at the reaping. I wonder what her goodbyes will show. They are being shown later today and I feel a twinge of excitement at the idea of seeing what the other Tributes have to show for themselves. They could make or break sponsorships.

I accept Lea's answer with a nod of my head and focus my attention back on the steaming pile of food in front of me. If I am to die in the arena at least I will die knowing that this was how I lived just before that. And I think I could live with that.

 **Cole Rockweld, 15, District 9.**

I sit across from my mentors and fellow Tribute as we eat our breakfast in stoney silence. I've forgotten the name of the girl that was reaped with me. But she looks intimidating, with tattoos and piercings she looks like the kind of person not to be messed with.

I pick at my food, it's delicious, but just a couple of its mouthfuls and I am full and slightly queasy with the rocking of the train. I watch as the older people continue to eat. I rest my elbows on the table. I twirl the silver band on my finger, imaging Barrick here with me. He would be enjoying the food. I force myself to take another mouthful. Just for him.

"We need to decide something," Farro, our male mentor says, clearing his throat. He is older, his late 40's from what I can remember but he won his Games from force and being underestimated. Maybe I can fly under the radar like him.

"How much of your coaching would you like done together, and how much separately?" This time voice is that of our female mentor, Milo. My brow puzzles at this. I didn't think about how much I want the older girl to be in my alliance. Something tells me she wants to take these Games alone. And she mirrors my thoughts.

"I'd like to be completely separate, please," she says. This is not a surprise and I nod along. It's not like I can fight against it if she doesn't want it.

I am surprised when the train car suddenly going dark, automatic lights turn on in and we are light up in neon hues. The mentor's chuckle at the surprised expression on my face and even the girl smirks at me.

"I'm just going to ask now,"Farro's voice sounds like he almost doesn't want to know the answer. "Do we need to be ready for any damage control after footage of the goodbyes is released?" My heart sinks. I almost forgot about that. I twirl the silver band on my finger harder. And look at the girl, hoping that she will admit to something.

She clears her throat, blushing. "We didn't talk about much. He came up," she points at me and my eyebrows raise. "But apart from that, it was just innocent. I guess my big moment came at the reapings." She muses, and I recall another girl kissing her for the goodbyes.

I chuckle, for how taboo it is to be gay in Panem we certainly don't seem to mind. The mentors then look and I feel my cheeks turning bright pink in their gaze. "I...I...I kissed my fiancee," I tell them, and I feel their eyes looking at the ring on my finger.

"Barrick?" The girl asks me and I nod. Feeling my cheeks turn even hotter. I can imagine the judgment that will come from this. But I don't care.

The mentors have strained faces but take deep breaths. "It could be worse, the Capitol has become more open in recent years, these should just reflect as love stories. They have always thought of the Districts as more _radicals_." I laugh, my love has been diluted to the word _radical_ but I kind of like it. I smile across at the girl and she winks back.

Suddenly sunlight bursts out of the windows again and I rush over, taking my first glimpses of the Capitol. It's more than I could have ever imagined.

 **Eva Brath, 14, District 10.**

There is no way anything in my life has prepared me for what I am staring at. The Capitol. My District partner Trav stares out with me as we try to process everything that we are seeing. Enormous skyscrapers tower above the world and a large river that we cross on a track higher than air.

We get closer to the Capitol, looping around the outside we stare at candy colored buildings that look so fake like they were made of cardboard from a child in a different life imagination. We catch glimpses of the people, dressed even weirder than our escort they point at the train that has been marked out for Tributes.

We get closer and I start to wave at the colorful faces that we pass, I can sense Trav start to wave and I smile at them. They talked to me about their identity last night and I am more than happy to embrace them. We all need a friend here.

I grab one of their hands as we wave to the people and the Capitol citizens beam back. Their cheering can just be heard outside of the thick glass. I get a buzz of this new celebrity momentarily as I watch how excited the people get to see us.

Then I remember that they will be even more excited to see us being killed for their entertainment. I drop Trav's hand and they look at me confused before they shrug and go back to waving at the people outside. I retire back to a chair, near the mentors they talk in hushed voices.

"You really should keep waving," Bellamy tells me, and Circe nods in agreement. But I just shake my heads at the two mentors and press my head against the cool table. I was wrong to enjoy the Capital for a moment. Forgetting how they killed my two sisters and will be killing me. How my father died because of them. How my younger sister will be sentenced to death after me. I won't win these Games.

I can only hope that I go out without too much pain. Nothing too gruesome for my sister to have to watch. She didn't really understand my sister's deaths. I covered her eyes when I knew they were coming and watched with tears streaming down my cheeks as they were killed. Both by the career pack.

When I took my hands off of my sister's eyes she didn't understand why my cheeks were wet and she couldn't see our sisters on the screen anymore. I just told her they were in a better place. I will be in a better place soon too. I hope her and mother don't miss me too much. But I know they will.

Grief never really goes away.

It stays.

It haunts.

It affects you every day.

 **Harvest Kohl, 15, District 11.**

I have to be separated from Poppy and I hate it. I need to keep her protected. As much as she hates what is happening. But our mentors told us to do whatever our stylists need. So, I let myself and her go our separate ways.

I am thinking about her safety while I am plucked and prodded and placed into bathtubs full of different foul smelling liquids by the _prep_ team that I have been given. They are getting me ready for the Chariot rides that will take place tonight.

They are absolutely buzzing, talking about all of the different Tributes reaped for this year's Games it surprises me that no one really gets their attention. I assume it's usually only the careers that the Capitol really cares about but this year they are talking about everyone. From the beautiful girl in District 6, the tough looking boy in 7, to the Volunteer in 5, another close pair in 3 and I even get mentioned a couple of times. They keep switching from Tribute to Tribute as fast as a switch and I can't keep up.

They do talk about the Careers a lot though. Especially the pair from 2. The boy's brutal entrance coated in blood and the apparent mystery around the girl has them talking. I guess they do not know the full story here. About the men, they executed for attacking her. They talk about 2's Stylist not being able to get close to her yet and how they are worried that the Stylist won't have enough time to fix the Tribute.

I don't know if I want her to be okay or not.

On one hand, I would hate the idea of any Tribute to go into the Game's injured. But she's a Career, and one with her level of beauty is a massive threat. She will have no trouble finding sponsors. She and the boy will make a formidable pair. I can't beat. But if I could I would say they are the ones most likely to make it out. Though only one can make it the whole way.

The prep team chatters and coos at the muscles that are on my body. They haven't seen a _beefy_ Tribute from 11 in a while and I smirk to myself. But they also comment on how sweaty I am and I feel myself blush. It's not something that I can help. But really they don't seem to mind.

Partway through my transformation, someone brings out the goodbyes and I listen with curious ears as they explode into opinions. None waiting for the other to answer. From what I can piece together they are even more intrigued that the girl from 2's goodbye was the only one not shown. Makes sense. The Capitol only likes violence when it's tied in a pretty bow and marketed as the Games.

The boy from 4 comes up and they all have an opinion on him. They start to shout at each other and things become heated so I cannot understand them anymore but one of the prep team looks very pissed off, whereas the only male on the team looks impressed.

The girl from 1 is brought up with her father being a Victor and then they explode into tales of the other Tributes saying goodbye so that I cannot possibly keep track of it all. All I can tell is that we certainly are a controversial bunch of Tributes this year.

Eventually, the team gives me a thin robe and leaves me in a room that smells of roses and bleach. I stare at the ground until a door opens soundlessly. A man who must be my Stylist comes in.

"Right then, let's get down to business," he tells me, a smile that looks like a grimace on his face.

 **Flint Fraser, 13 District 12.**

I sit across from my Stylist. An elderly woman she beams down at me and pinches my cheek before messing up my hair. We eat lunch together, in a room overlooking the Capitol, I watch the strange citizens go about their daily business. Their peculiar looks fascinate me and I start pointing them out to the Stylist.

She laughs back, pointing out looks of her own and telling me about how that style became a trend. She even shows me some of her modifications. Overly large eyes can be seen from afar, but less noticeable is tattooed on freckles that spot her face. A large tattoo of a bird perches on her shoulder blades and she gives me a glimpse, its beady eyes stare at me with an uncanny fashion to reality.

She asks me if there are any trends that I can see that I like and I immediately point out a young man with bright orange hair. She laughs at this before making a note of it. I watch in awe as a young boy throws a stick for a dog that looks uncannily like Pecan and I feel a stab of homesickness.

My Stylist seems to notice this, trying to distract me from my gloom with something she calls ice cream and is the best thing I've ever tasted. But its flavor feels muted on my tongue. I long for the harsh teasare grain of home.

Eventually, my Stylist gives up with trying to make me happier and instead shows me designs for the parade tonight. There's a reason District 12 is always last. And from the looks of what she is showing me, things aren't going to change anytime soon.

But she takes me back into the preparation area and passes me back to my prep team. I try not to sulk. I thought I was done with their clutches. They continue to coo over how cute I am as they discuss the other Tributes of the Games. I am not mentioned once.

They apply a foul-smelling coat to my hair that causes my scalp to tingle and I squeeze my eyes closed. I am at home. I am at home.

Everything is going to be okay.

 **Nathaniel Mattingly 18, District 2.**

They walk me into one of the bedrooms on the train and I growl to myself. I shouldn't be here. But we need to present a unified team. I'm wearing the outfit that I am to complete the Chariot rides in and I am told that Cassia is too.

They told me to go in there and calm her down.

I don't know why they chose me for the job.

I guess no one else wanted to do it.

When I walk into her room I am surprised to find it decorated completely different to mine. Her bed is in the center of the room where mine was attached to the ceiling to the side. She has a large wardrobe to the left where I have a television screen that shows footage from all across the Capitol. I have a large jacuzzi tub near the center of the room, she has a coach near the end.

I spot her, sitting at the edge of her bed. Her outfit is on and makeup is done. Even I can admit that she looks stunning. Quite possibly the most beautiful person that I have ever and will ever see. I try to make my steps less intimidating. Cassia is a valuable ally in the arena. I will need to remember all that my parents taught me to charm this snake.

She looks up at the shadow that falls over her body from my tall frame and I see a flicker of fright in her eyes as she looks up at me. I try not to enjoy that fright. And instead, sit on the opposite end of the bed from her.

Her outfit shows off just as much skin like mine. But the back is covered. I raise my eyes at that and she notices. "To hide the scars," she explains, emotionless. "They could cover what my brother did yesterday but not the years before that," I try to feel sympathy and what she is telling me. But I can't. She's been training her whole life for these Games. I know he was a trainee at one point too. But he was lazy. Cassia could have taken him easily.

But I surprise myself when I lift off an intricately designed chest piece. Along my chest scars run in a crisscrossed pattern, never truly ending in one place and starting again at others. Some are small crescents, others are large deep cuts that are still purple from scaring. Cassia's eyes raise at the look of them and tentatively, she reaches a handout. Lightly touching one of the bigger scars that go across my stomach.

"How did you get them?" She asks, her voice barely a whisper. I take a deep breath. Only Milo has seen them before. I try not to think about them to myself. Pretending it is only the muscle that I see when I am shirtless. I never take my shirt off in front of people because of them. They reek of weakness.

"I was a small kid," I explain to her I pretend I am talking to Milo. I don't know why I am trusting Cassia with this. But I need someone to be my Milo inside the arena. Someone that can see beyond the mask of rage and bloodthirst that I must put on. It's been engraved into me since I started training.

"One of the older boys was training for the Games, he saw my size and decided to make me his _toy_." I spit out the word in disgust. "So for the next few years when he needed a carving or punching bag, he came to me."My voice trails off as I remember parts of my past I thought I had blocked out.

"I enjoyed watching him die," I reminisce on watching those Games. Wishing for his death but being fearful he would find out and get to me. But he got taken down, another Tribute made his end bloody and violent and I smiled as he was tortured. He died too soon. He deserved longer.

"After that, I decided I would volunteer, and decided that no one would ever do that to me again," I explain, Cassia looks back with a very confused look on her face and I wonder what is going through her head. The moment we share is long.

She turns her back to me, nimble fingers unbuckling a back piece that they put on her. As it falls I notice special padding that is not on mine. To help her heal. But that's not what catches my attention. She has no back. Only a mass of lumpy scars one over the other you can no longer tell where one ends and another begins.

"The Capital can't fix these. They run too deep," she explains, not looking at me. I slowly lift a hand and place it delicately on top of the scars, she flinches at the contact but does not move away. We sit for an impossibly long moment.

"My brother used me as his toy too. Bartering me off to the highest bidder. Only I couldn't stop it. I was afraid. I didn't want to hurt him." I suddenly understand Cassia's actions more. I had felt contempt that she hadn't done anything to harm her brother back. She was well trained enough to make mincemeat out of him. But there's a fear that developed between them. Just like I experienced too.

"I enjoyed watching him die too," she tells me. And looks over her shoulder towards me. Our eyes lock and for a moment I am not looking at her. I am looking at what I would of become if my tormenter had survived the arena.

At that moment I decide that I will keep Cassia safe.

My thoughts go to the boy from Four and I feel them turning dark. My prep team told me all about him. I know what he's like already. I won't let him touch her. A protective instinct I have never felt before rushes over me. I almost like the feeling. She starts to clasp her back piece on and I lean over to help her. She nods in thanks.

We sit there a moment longer, lost in our own thoughts. That is until Orion bangs on the door telling us it's time to go. Cassia jumps at the sound of his voice and looks momentarily shocked. Before she shakes her head. The makeup they put on her makes her look like a warrior.

"Ready to get the Capitols attention?" I ask her, feeling impossibly strong.

"I think we already have." She replies, a small grin on her face.

 **Authors note: Boy oh boy that was a long one to write. Thank you all for a large number of reviews on the past couple of chapters. Please please please keep it up so I know someone is actually reading what I'm spending so much time writing. Because man I love doing this!**

 **As always thank you for reading! And let me know what you think of these Tributes.**

 **May the odds be ever in your favor,**

 **and,**

 **thank you for your sacrifice.**


	22. A Beacon Of Change

**Ziva Crimson, 27, The Capitol.**

They have been repeating clips of the goodbyes all day. The President has avoided watching them. When Aetius came up with the plan the President was intrigued enough to give it the green light. Now she feels cruel, she caused these Tributes private lives to be shown to all of Panem.

She knows that she needs to watch them now. There will be interviews after the Chariot rides and she needs to be ready to answer questions. The goodbyes will surely be a hot topic for debate. She sits alone on a too large coach. Anya is in the bathroom, tidying up, she will need to leave soon.

But the President needs her strength to be able to watch this. When she comes out of the bathroom she sits next to the President on the coach. Anya wraps an arm around the President as they stare at Drusus Lionella's face.

"Ready?" Anya asks her.

The President only nods.

Pressing play on the television Drusus's voice fills the room like he was standing right next to them. "Welcome to our special show!" He yells, and canned applause is played. The President can imagine citizens watching at home in the Capitol clapping and whooping along with him. Then she pictures those in the Districts, about to watch their neighbors and friends, even themselves go through the grief of saying goodbye to someone they love all over again.

District One is played and I watch the large boy support his girlfriend and reassure her that he will come home safe and that he loves her. My heart breaks a little watching him.

The girl from the District jokes with her friends and gains advice from her Victor father. He married his wife so quickly so the Capitol could not pawn him off. His daughter was destined for the Games before she was even born. The President had to fight hard to stop the selling of the Victors, and even harder to get them out of the Capitol's eye.

The boy from Two looks brutal, but he has a surprisingly soft goodbye with a boy around his age. The girl from their District is not shown. The President knows what a brutal attack was done to her and feels anger flowing through her veins toward the dead brother. Her heart aches for the girl.

Over and over the President watches children say goodbye to their parents and she bursts into tears when the boy from Three admits he is just doing it to protect the girl Tribute from their District. Over and over the President watches goodbyes from these Tributes and wonders how she can be so cruel to do this to them?

By the end of the program, the President has no more tears to cry. Yet her eyes are puffy and red and her face is blotchy despite tanned skin. Anya looks down at the President feeling sympathy for the woman who has the weight of the world on her shoulders yet is powerless to help. She has no idea what it is like to rule a nation.

"I can't do this anymore," the President tells her. And Anya feels a prick in her heart when she realizes the President is serious this time.

"What are you going to do?" Anya asks her, feeling proud of the woman and what she wants to do. But also scared. Impossibly scared. What they are doing is already taboo enough.

"I don't know," the President says, but already tales float to her mind. Classified information. The Presidents mind is whirling a million miles an hour when she hears a knock on her door.

"It's time," Anya says, wiping the tears off of the President's cheeks.

"Tell them I will be out in a moment," the President says, walking back toward the bathroom she gets under a shower that automatically turns warm for her. Pressing a few buttons and closing her eyes a massager comes down, massaging the tension out of her cheeks and scrubbing the redness out of them.

When she gets out no one will know the weakness that she displayed.

Only Anya.

And the promise of change that it brings.


	23. Glamour (CHARIOT RIDES)

**Ace Platinum, 18, District 1.**

I stand next to Weiss. She's staring at the buttons on the elevator. Scowling gently the expression only makes me want to chuckle. I don't though. We have both had our private lives exposed today.

My prep team put the program on, let me watch it as they rewatched it. I almost wish they hadn't. I don't want to see the private lives of those I will have to kill. It makes them more normal. More real. I would prefer to look at them as the thing between bringing pride back home. But it's hard when you just saw them balling their eyes out hugging those they love.

Weiss is wearing a jumpsuit just like mine. The suits are made of crystal shards, they jut out at all directions but hug our figures well. Slits are cut around our abdomens, running up to our chests and arms they show just enough skin to be considered eye-catching. Weiss wears bright makeup and I know the prep team put a little on me too.

My blond hair practically glows with the shine that they put on it and Weiss's cheekbones look darker and more prominent than ever. Together we radiate.

The doors open and I take a deep breath, shaking out my arms I walk forward with Weiss. We are some of the first to arrive and walk over to where we can see Bastion chatting with another mentor. "Hey guys meet Marvolo O'dair, District 4's mentor," he tells us. Issuing to an attractive looking man.

I reach out a hand and shake his firmly. He smiles at me, not quite forced. "Where are your Tributes?" I ask, neither of the female mentors is here and the Tributes are nowhere to be seen.

"Coming I expect, I think Blake is very particular about these things," Marvolo explains, rolling his eyes at his Tribute. I am shocked at his relaxed attitude but wonder if he is just putting it on to make me think that Blake is not a threat. I am still trying to puzzle it out when I spot our alleys.

The first thing I notice is both have long blond hair that falls down their backs in waves. The look is feminine but Blakes body makes up for that. The Stylists obviously wanted to show off as much of him as possible, he wears copper netting, woven with shells and seaweed it looks intricately done. But leaves more skin than anything else than showing.

The girl from their District looks awkward in her outfit, it is cut slightly differently to show less skin and she wears some kind of armour around it. She looks more fierce than him. But the scowl plated on her face shows her unease.

Marvolo and Bastion look on like buddies as we square each other up. I reach out a hand, "so, allies then?" It's not needed to do this formally, but it feels right.

The girl from their District surprises me, reaching out her hand to mine "allies," she replies, flashing an only slightly forced smile. Our hands drop.

"Has anyone heard from Two?" I ask Bastion hasn't told us anything yet.

"The alliance is on, they should be here," this time it is Blake that replies. Flashing a large grin bearing all his teeth. I'm sure it looks charming to anyone that doesn't know what he did at the goodbyes. But I think all of Panem knows now.

We stand in an awkward silence as the other Tributes start to full up the room, it is our first chance to properly eye up our competition. I can't say I'm too worried. There may be some surprises from the rest of the pack. But nothing compared to how hard we have been trained.

 **Cassia Slander, 16, District 2.**

"Are you ready?" Nate asks me, looking down at my slim figure he gives me a soft smile. The boy still intimidates me. I am yet to figure out how he got the blood on him for the reaping. But I know he's more like me. A different version of how I could have ended up. If I had fought against my brother.

So I surprise both of us. Grabbing one of his huge hands in mine I squeeze it tightly. He squeezes it back for a moment. "I've been waiting my whole life for this moment," I tell him, flashing one of those dazzling smiles that I have got so good at.

His laughter at my expression spills out of the elevator door as it opens into the preparation area. I see some Tributes look over at us, a malnourished boy who looks too small to be here and a girl as thin as sticks. Judging by the dark power they wear I assume they are from District 12. I sense Nate tense up beside me, strutting with an authority to his step he leads the way to the other Careers that he has already spotted.

I stare ahead, my eyes unfeeling. I am used to turning heads. But have never quite had the experience of having every single person in the room eyes on me. Especially, when in a weeks time we will have the opportunity to kill each other. I move away from Nate, not needing his imposing presence I walk with my hips swinging just like I would when I wanted attention back home.

We stop next to the other Careers and I smile at them. I feel Nate tense up by my side as he looks at the competition. He is larger than everyone by at least a head. We stare at each other in an awkward silence. No one quite knows what to say.

"So, you're alive then," the voice comes from the mouth of the boy from District 4. Throwing me what I'm sure he thinks is a seductive smile.

"Last time I checked," I reply, sending a provocative smile back I see his eyebrows raise. I've already decided I don't like him. But if he can be distracted easily it's all the better. I feel Nate tense up even harder next to me, he's shooting daggers at the boy. But he doesn't seem to notice, he's staring at another girl.

I place a hand lightly on Nates arm "relax," I whisper to him. It takes a minute, but he slowly unclenches his body.

"You look too pretty to be a Career," this time the voice comes from the girl that must be from District 4. A scowl seems permanently etched on her face. Nate tenses again and I realize I have to do something. My brother has made me appear weak. He has made all of the Tributes stare at me. Made me appear like I can't defend myself. Something must be done.

I march over to where two horses have been tied. On a bench next to them sits a Pick that must be used for the horse's feet. I throw it from one hand to the other, getting a feel for its weight before I turn back on my heels.

Looking over the heads of the Careers I spot a bird nesting on the top of a concrete beam above us. Taking a deep breath I throw the Pick on my exhale. It takes a moment for the Pick to reach the bird. But it hurts it square on. The force propels the bird out of the nest and down onto the ground.

It lands in front of the scrawny boy from District 12 who jumps back in fright, tumbling into some metal buckets that hold sugar cubes for the horses. They spill everywhere as the boy lands on top of them. Nate erupts into a booming laugh that is quickly picked up by the rest of the pack.

Nate places a supportive on my shoulder. "Anyone else got stupid questions?" His voice makes it pretty clear that he doesn't want to hear any.

 **Callum Lennon, 18, District 3.**

I see Talia jump with the boy from District 12 when the bird hits the floor in front of him. She flinches again at the harsh sound he makes when hitting the metal buckets. I move my body protectively in front of hers, but the Careers aren't looking our way anymore.

Instead, they are laughing at themselves. It booms around the large room we have been placed in. Echoing harshly off the walls. I place a hand in Talia's and she blinks up at me. I try to offer her as much support as I can. But the Careers intimidate me too. Their mentors are with them. All vicious winners. Everyone knows Bastion's name, killing the most Tributes in recent history. And Orion is well known for his brutal treatment of those he killed.

They make my blood run cold. It is one thing to kill in self-defense. But those two both killed for the hell of it. Goosebumps break out over my skin. I'm glad the costume they gave me covers from wrist to ankle. It hides it. Shimmering panels are woven into the body suit that sends radiant light when looked at from certain directions. Our Stylist has assured us it is going to be an instant hit. But I don't think the Capitol will be able to look at us for more than a few seconds at a time.

"Are you excited?" I ask Talia, trying to distract her from the conversation that has now become rowdy at the Careers.

"Nervous" she admits, looking small and timid in her matching costume. Not like the girl I have come to know as a sister. She has always been quiet around others, I hope she does not become that way to me. She is all I have here. I will get her out of the arena still herself.

"Hey, what are you frightened of?" I softly tickle her arm and she lets out a few small giggles.

"Oh you know, the whole of Panem seeing me dressed up, just the usual," she replies. I am relieved to hear the usual sarcasm in her voice that I have come to know her for. She might be okay yet.

But none of us are truly okay.

"Imagine how proud your parents are going to be of you," I tell her honestly. She looks older than 15, the heels the stylists have put her in making her look taller and her hair is perfectly braided around her face.

"I imagine they'll be even more proud when they see me die," she jokes, but a sob is bubbled up with the laughter that passes quickly from her lips. I look down in sympathy, drawing my body toward hers I wrap her in a protective hug.

Everything will be okay.

Everything will be okay as long as she is with me.

She will make it home.

"That's not going to happen," I whisper into her ear. Her eyes look up at me, the cool anger for what I've done still burns behind her eyelids. But there's nothing she can do now.

"I love you, big brother," she whispers back. I feel a tear drip onto the shimmering makeup that the Stylists have put on me.

"I love you too, little sister."

 **Blake Calloun, 17, District 4.**

My eyes dart around the commotion going on inside of the area we have been left in before the ceremony. I'm not able to focus on one thing or person, instead, I try and take everything in. Lapping up the attention that the Capitol is giving us. We are superstars.

I make eye contact with a beautiful girl, light brown skin, a dust of freckles, brown hair that has been left loose and wild yet curled so it bounces. Piercings trail right up her ears and reflect light directly into my eyes. She stands with a younger District partner. An odd pair from District 6. But I can't take my eyes off of her.

She looks up from her partner, staring directly into my eyes a coolness radiates off of her that causes my heart to accelerate in my chest. I shoot her a wink and she replies by raising her middle finger towards me. I lick my lips.

I feel a hard pressure to my head and look stumble forward, rubbing a lump that is starting to develop. "What was that for?" I ask angrily to my mentor, who stands over me with a disappointed expression on his face.

"That was for not being able to take your eyes off the girl from Six," Marvolo replies, his voice cold. "Did you hear anything that Nate just said to you?" By the pissed off expressions on the rest of the Career's faces it's pretty clear they know I wasn't listening. I glare at the floor.

"As I was saying," Nate says, his voice low and gravelly. I stare at him. He's intimidating for sure. Much taller than the rest of us and with arms bigger than the girl's heads. But he must have a weakness. They all do. He came to his reaping coated in blood. I need to figure out who it was.

I notice Cassia, his District partner standing very close to him. I wonder if something's going on there? That would be a real shame. I'd love a roll in the hay with that girl. I'm sure she's the most beautiful girl that I've ever seen. It's a shame we are both going into the arena. I'd take her over the President anyway.

"I don't think we'll need to recruit any of the other Districts into our alliance this year, looking at them none of them seem to be that huge competition. And the ones that do can be taken out," Nate stares at the boy from District 7 as he says this and I nod along. Then his eyes dart to the boy from District 5 and we nod again. These boys need to be taken care of.

Then again who made Nate in charge? I feel a rising resentment around the larger boy and it causes me to blurt out, "I disagree, I want others in the alliance." The rest of the Careers turn their attention to me, their faces full of contempt. Marvolo throws daggers at me, but I relax, a cocky smile on my face.

Nate looks at a loss for words and he stares at me hard enough for my smile to wilter. But not enough to go away completely. I feel Ace glance over my shoulder, then a cheeky smile comes over his face. "Tell you what, if you can get a Tribute to agree to be in our alliance right now, they're in, but if you can't, you're out. Do we have a deal?" I hate the way the smirk lights up his face. I stifle a laugh when I realize all us Career boys could be brothers. With blond hair and blue eyes.

"Deal," I tell him, my eyes sparkling mischievously as I lean out a hand in his direction. His eyebrows raise. He did not think I would agree to this. It's Nate who sticks his hand out to confirm the bet. I shake it with as much force I can muster. He crushes my hand back. I'm smiling to myself when I walk off into the direction of the other Tributes. This will be fun.

 **Caroline Hollyhock, 17, District 5.**

I nervously pace as I wait for the announcement for us to mount our Chariots. Five paces to the left, five paces to the right. I keep going back and forth. Placing my feet steadily after each other I try to focus on nothing else.

Not how my stomach was slightly larger than the Stylists had anticipated for my height and build, not the way I've woken up with nausea the past mornings, not the way my feet hurt. I just focus on pacing back and forward, back and forward. Everything else does not matter.

Alyssa matters.

That is what I know.

I wonder what she's doing now. I wonder what she thinks after watching the goodbye programming. I couldn't tell her I love her. Not in our goodbye. I cried in her arms. But she would have seen when I confessed to Anton. The look on his face. Those two were decent friends. I think that's not possible anymore.

I wonder if Alyssa shares those feelings, or if I have just been kidding myself in the hopes that I did not ruin what I and Anton had. My heart still aches when I picture the expression on his face when I confessed to loving her. But I can't spend my whole life trying to fix him. I just can't. I needed to do something for me. If it is the last thing then so be it.

I look over at my District partner, we have both been awfully quiet since we arrived on the train. Barely saying anything to each other we are lost in our own grief. I look over to him now, he stands to impose with his muscular frame.

He pats one of the horses that will lead our Chariot, using surprisingly gentle hands I watch him stroke its mane. He looks up at me, our eyes locking. I don't know how to feel in the moment and bring my eyes from his. Staring down at the ground I abruptly stop moving.

look around the rest of the preparation area. Watching the other Tributes mull about and chat with their partners I am suddenly enveloped in a feeling like I have never felt before. Complete and utter overwhelmed.

24 of us are going into the arena. Only one of us is going to be able to escape. We are all children. There are 14 and 15-year-olds here. They don't deserve this. Malnourished and young Tributes cannot possibly be forced to fight against the well trained 18-year-old Careers. It's not fair. It's not right.

I feel myself stumbling backward and feel Oliver stick an arm out and catch me. I didn't even realize that I was topping his way. "Are you okay?" he asks me. I can't tell if there is genuine concern in his voice or not.

The world seems to swirl in front of my eyes and my ears start ringing. This can't be happening. I try to reply to him, opening my mouth I have ever intent to speak. But I have to roll my head over as I puke all over the floor. Just missing both of our boots.

 **Esme Layton, 17, District 6.**

I'm having a quiet conversation with Jerry, talking about home, when I see the boy from District 4 marching toward us. The way his eyes make contact with mine makes me realize he could be going to no one else. My heart gives a leap of adrenaline.

Maybe he's coming to finish me before the Game even starts. Let him try. I quickly reach behind me and pick up a spare halter for the horses. It's mostly made of thick rope, but there's a metal clip on the end that could do damage if swung with enough force. I hold it behind me as the boy stops a few meters in front of me.

His Stylist obviously went the sexy angle, trying to show off as much of him as possible. He looks good. His long blond hair flowing in a way that makes him look sexy, and his body isn't hard to look at. But it's hard to get past the stunt that he pulled during the goodbyes. No matter how pretty he may look.

I wonder what Riley would think of him. And chuckle under my breath. Riley would hate him. But then I picture the expression on Rileys face if I told him I had hooked up with a Career and the imaginary expression on his face pulls me into an all-out grin.

The boy, Blake, assumes I'm grinning at him and grins back.

Jerry looks awkwardly between us, taking a step back he tries to sink into the horses. I think that he's okay talking to me. But a well trained and well-muscled Career intimidates him. Blake intimidates me. But I love the feeling of adrenaline that comes with the danger.

I can tell Jerry doesn't.

"What do you want?" I ask, not letting my nerves show I sound almost bored. Leaning back against the Chariot that will soon show me off to the Capitol.

He beams over to me, taking a few slow steps forward until he is right up in my face. His breath smells like mint and his eyes seem to sparkle from this close. I have to hold back a snort. I'm sure he thinks this is the perfect moment.

"I want you to join me, " he tells me in a soft voice that is almost a whisper. My eyebrows raise slowly, he wants me to be a Career. I know what the Careers are like, we all see them, ruthless killing machines that don't take any form of no as an answer. I picture the adrenaline of the hunt. Only this time it's other Tributes. A new possibility I ever imagined. The ultimate buzz.

I used to throw stones at the birds around the District. It wasn't kind. But whenever I hit one I would get this buzz like I was on top of the world. The ultimate adrenaline high. Riley eventually made me promise not to do it anymore. I haven't. But the feeling lingers.

"I want you to fight with us, kill with us, and sleep with us," I glare at him. And he laughs, "let me rephrase, sleep at our camp," but his eyes show no humor in the joke. Only an intensity that causes the adrenaline to pump louder in my ears than my heartbeat.

I think about what Riley would want me to do. I know he wouldn't trust Blake or the Careers. He would tell me to form my own alliance. Maybe the boys from District 5 and 7 the girl from 9. But then I picture that damn look on his face again.

I smile back at Blake, our breaths mingling in the closeness of our bodies.

"I'm in," I tell him.

He erupts into a booming laugh.

 **Nirvana Ivanov, 18, District 7.**

They gave me a solvent that burned and tingled when I applied it to my back. But now, as I run my fingers over it I can only feel smooth skin underneath my fingertips. Not the harsh lines of the whip that should be carved into it. I guess the Capitol can fix anything.

It feels odd to be shirtless around so many people, but my Stylist insisted she wanted to _show me off_ to the Capitol. I rub the back of my neck self consciously. Hoping that no one will pay too much attention to me. I really would like to fly under the radar until the Games begin. Then use my Uncles knowledge to my advantage.

But by the glances that have been thrown my way by the Careers and other Tributes, I don't think that is going to be possible. I glare at anyone that throws a look my way, it's quickly met by their eyes darting away from mine.

A glaring static blares over the intercom, causing many of the Tributes to flinch. "Tributes mount your Chariots and prepare for the circuit," the robotic voice says, quickly followed by the blasting of the Capitol anthem.

I turn on my heels, steadily mounting my side of the Chariot I stand across from Willow. She's in a completely different outfit from me, hers covers all of her body, whereas mine only goes from the waist down. Delicate silver wires are threaded with synthetic sticks with neon green leaves that light up in the growing darkness.

I look over at the younger girl next to me, she just looks straight ahead. Looking dangerous with her heavy makeup. The anthem blares even louder and is accompanied by cheers as the Capitol gets their first glimpse of this year's Tributes in the flesh. They roar even louder when District 2 follows.

I stand staring straight ahead as the horses move on well-practiced steps until it is our Chariot that is in the exit. I take a deep breath, rolling out my shoulders again a manic smile lights up my face.

It is time to own this show.

 **Violet Mercury, 14, District 8.**

I stare at everything with wide eyes as the Chariot I am on is pulled out of the preparation area. I can barely get my breath, taking shallow breaths my chest barely moves. I glance across to my District partner, Weft.

He looks just as nervous as me and I watch a trickle of sweat move down his forehead. He looks over me, his eyes hard as he waves to the citizens of the Capital that are now staring us down. I feel my heart sink at his coldness and choose to stare away from him. Directly into the eyes of the Capitol citizens.

They cheer our way and I hear some faint cries of District 8 but they are barely audible by the cries from the Career Districts that seem to be getting all the attention of the audience. I don't blame them. They all look deadly.

I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror and almost cry at what I see. I don't look deadly like the older children, my stylist has dressed me up to be _pretty_. I look like a child. Not like a Victor and I feel tears at the edge of my eyes in the realization. I won't be able to attract a sponsor looking like this.

I feel Weft stare at me, he grabs my wrist with enough force to make me flinch. "Look happy or we both have lost our shot," he growls at me, his voice sounding like a vicious animal before he releases my wrist. The pain shoots a surge of adrenaline in my veins and I have to fight a scowl.

Instead, I turn to the audience and smile at them. Making eye contact with as many as possible I smile and wave and try to look _pretty_ maybe I'm not deadly. But I'm sure I can get some sympathy votes. There's got to be someone out there who will sponsor a young girl.

My heart skips a beat when I notice a flower thrown at me, I catch it automatically and blow a kiss back in the general direction of the thrower. I almost drop it in surprise when I realize what kind of a flower it is. It's a violet.

A huge grin overtakes my face as I picture my family watching me from back home and the expression on Jasper's face if he saw me with this violet. He used to find violets for me. I don't know where he would get them from in the District but he used to surprise me with them. Only his were speckled with white, the violet thrown at me is as pure as the dress that I wore to the reaping.

I feel the horses start to slow down and stumble forward slightly as we start to circle the square just in front of the President's mansion. As we slow I glance upward at the huge marble building that must be the President's home.

I glance up and just make out the dark silhouette who I am fairly sure is her. I watch the silhouette come out into the light as our horses stop moving. I gain a rush of euphoria that has been growing throughout the Parade. I am apart of something larger than myself. Almost larger than life. And I love the feeling of the attention it brings.

 **Kalista Stone, 17, District 9.**

I am bathed in a golden hue. Tiny grains embedded with light illuminate me to the steadily darker growing Capitol and the metallic makeup placed on my face makes it glow too, my dark brown skin being the perfect background to create an eye-catching image.

I've caught my reflection a few times on the massive mirrors placed around our circuit and barely recognize the person that I see. But my rose tattoo is showing. I was so glad when the Stylists decided to show it off.

I crane my neck upward and get a glance at our President. She looks fierce, not at all like the usual Presidential outfit. She wears heavy black makeup around her eyes, it almost looks like warpaint and her long brown hair is braided intricately behind her. She wears dark clothing, with an armor-like design flowing over one shoulder and looking like it is quite heavy to wear. She even has high black leather boots to match.

It looks like she is the one going into the arena. Not us Tributes. I feel an appreciation of what she is wearing, it is a tribute to what we will do soon and an admiration for our youngest President rushes through my veins. Maybe I'll never understand how she can send children to their death. But I will always appreciate someone doing things differently.

She starts her speech and like tradition the cameras cut from her onto all of the Tributes in the square in front of her. Everyone seems to get equal screen time, but some costumes the audience definitely responds to better than others.

I try to focus on the President's words, it is a more somber speech than usually give to the Tributes, I know that much. But my mind drifts as she speaks as I try to get good looks at the other Tributes I will soon be forced to kill.

"Thank you for your sacrifice," our Presidents last words are met by a roar of the citizens around us who break into thunderous applause as the Capitol anthem does its best to drown them out. I beam down at the audience as our Chariot starts to move again, taking us back to the Tribute Center that will now be our home until the Games.

I feel an immense relief when we make it back and the doors close behind us, cutting out the worst of the blaring noise I feel a headache start to develop underneath my eyelids. I close my eyes, counting to three I open them again to new noise.

Our Stylists and mentors have rushed out and showered us in praise. We may not have made quite as much of a splash as the Career Districts. But we have done enough for some of them to remember our names. Any sponsor we can get will aid our chances inside of these Games.

I feel Milo, our male mentor, reach an arm up and help me off of the Chariot. "You did perfect," he beams at me. I smile back at him and wrap him in a huge hug. We break away smiling at each other as the rest of our team is a bubble of commotion and praise.

I refuse to count myself out of these Games.

 **Trafalgar "Trav" Zaun, 15, District 10.**

I feel a relief deeper than anything I have felt before flow over my body when we make it back inside of the Training Centre. And even more when I am back on the ground again, being praised emptily by our mentors and Stylists I know me and Eva did not make the impression that the other Tributes did.

Both of us looked awkward up there, not quite sure what to do or who to look at. We quiet quickly and leave this area of the Tribute Centre. Relief flows through me at the notion that we will not have to go back.

I un-tense my shoulders for the first time of the night when the elevator doors close. Our mentors and us Tributes are the only ones inside of the elevator. "How did we really do?" I ask Bellamy, our male mentor he looks impossibly tired at only 41.

"You got outshined," he says simply, our female mentor shoots him a look at that but he just shrugs his shoulders. "The kids deserve to know," he tells her. I feel my heart sink but it is what I expected. I can't wait to get this outfit off. It Itches.

"You did fine," our female mentor, Circe says to Eva as she wraps an arm around her shoulder. But I lock eyes with Eva and my own dread is mirrored in hers. Neither of us did fine. At least I will go into the arena knowing no sponsors are looking my way. It will make me more careful. Less reliant on others.

The elevator doors open when we reach the tenth floor and I didn't even bother looking outside of the glass sphere. I'm sure the Capitol shines at night. But I can't make myself care for the place that is going to send me to my death. I don't give it the satisfaction of wowing me first. I will go on my own terms and return on them if I can.

"Get some sleep," Bellamy tells us as he walks into a dark room. I follow him simply, we will talk strategies tomorrow. But ultimately I know that they aren't hopeful for a Victor this year. Maybe they want us to die as soon as possible to not be dangled with the possibility. I don't want to die. I need to play the Game.

I walk over a shaggy carpet and an Avox leads me down a hall and into my bedroom. It's even more luxurious than the train but I barely notice it in the dark. Instead, crawl underneath the soft blankets of my bed and curl into a ball.

Bringing my legs to my chest, I wrap my arms around them under the soft and dark cocoon of my blankets. Underneath there I am safe. There are no cameras pointed at me or Tributes to intimidate. I am simply me.

And I cry myself to sleep because of it.

 **Poppy Northrop, 15, District 11.**

I slump in relief when the elevator doors open to reveal the room that will be our home for the next few days. Until the arena. I try not to think that way. Instead, I focus on how it felt to parade with all the Chariots. It felt like we were on top of the world.

I liked hands with Harvest and we supported each other throughout it. I think the Capitol liked our bond, even if our outfits were a little lackluster. I smiled at some many different people, in their wacky Capitol outfits it was easy to smile and laugh. No one noticed I was laughing at them, not with them. Well apart from maybe Harvest. But he looked a little green up there.

"Come to the sitting room with us," Wren, our female mentor says, and our male mentor Dale nods along. I follow along, side by side with Harvest we both are still smiling a little from the parade. My hand tingles a bit from the contact with his. I try to ignore the feeling. My cheeks slightly flushing.

We sit opposite our mentors, on a couch wide enough to be a bed it threatens to swallow us whole. Dale clears his throat, looking both of us up and down he squares his shoulders. I feel small under the gaze of a Victor.

"For the next three days you will be training for the Games, we need to sort out your strategy towards it," he says, sounding tired but determined.

"Do either of you have any talents that will help?" Wren says. That's when I realize that the golden time is over. The train and Chariot ride was full of new experiences and luxury. Now we need to prepare to be placed in the arena. Faced with the impossibility of death it seems too real. I have to grab Harvest's hand to ground me. He looks surprised but has a thoughtful expression on his face.

"We both work on the fields at home," Harvest starts to explain, his voice gravelly.

"He's very strong," I cut in, issuing to Harvest. "He uses plows and scythes on the fields easily," his face turns to a grateful expression and he tassels my hair slightly.

"She's very fast, runs to work every day. And is good at healing," I blush under his praise. The mentors look thoughtfully at us.

"Don't show off any of your strengths. Keep it tight. And try going to as many of the stations as you can. Don't underestimate survival skills but you also need to be able to use weapons," Wren tells us, and Dale nods again. Happy to let the older mentor take the lead. I think she mentored him.

We get let off to go to sleep and I trail after Harvest as we leave the sitting room. He enters the doorway of his room, staring at me before taking a deep breath. "I don't want to be alone," he tells me, his eyes showing the fright he feels about the Games. I know it is mirrored in my own.

"Will you stay?" My heart flutters at his invitation, our parents always made us sleep in separate rooms when we stayed the night at each others houses.

"Of course," I tell him, wrapping my arms around his torso we are locked in a hug as we walk slowly back into his room. Closing the door behind us.

 **Pricilla Winters, 15, District 12.**

Our mentor has finished talking to us. Neither I nor Flint has any special talent and Adair seems to know this. He just tells us to stick to the survival stations, a lot of Tributes die because they don't know how to make fire or gather food.

We nod along at him, but there is a sinking feeling of doom in my stomach. We aren't supposed to win these games. And Adair knows this too. "The Capitol doesn't like District 12," he tells us, his voice grim yet his eyes determined.

"So you're already going in with a disadvantage, try to make the audience love you. It's all a show. You just need to play by its rules." I sense Flint slouch at that and sigh. It's something we always knew but having it said by someone as powerful as Adair makes it all the more real.

"Because there's only one of me you're at another disadvantage. Are you okay with being coached together?" I look over at Flint, who looks up with his frightened eyes.

"Yes,"

We sit in silence for a while longer. Not quite ready to go to sleep, our thoughts whirling. Tomorrow I will get my first good look at the Tributes, and what they can do. And I am terrified.

"How did you win your games?" I ask Adair to try and be distracted from my own thoughts. He must have done something pretty special to make it. It was 19 years ago, I think he had an elderly mentor. But the man died of illness a couple years later.

Adair's eyes take on a far off look and he gnaws on the bottom of his lip as if deciding something. Before he sighed and gets up. "I'll be right back," he tells us, I raise my eyes at Flint who looks back mirroring my expression.

Some Avox's come out, they hold steaming cups of hot chocolate topped with cream and marshmallows and I feel grateful as I take a cup, sipping the sweet liquid helps to calm my nerves. We make quiet conversation together about some and I smile as he tells me about his sister with clear adoration in his voice. I tell him about my brothers back.

When Adair comes back in we have fallen into a silent hum of home. It's almost cruel when he puts a flash drive into the television and plays his Games for us. Almost. But we asked for it. He sits on the floor next to our coach as the tape starts to play. It has been a special edit to show the Game's from his perspective. Of a Victor.

We see him reaped, a very attractive 18-year-old he looks determined and hugs a boy around his age. "My best friend, Alston," he explains to us, his eyes not moving from the screen. I don't recognize the name.

We see Adair in the Chariot rides, looking well muscled and fierce he smiles and waves at the Capitol residents. In the interviews he is quietly confident, joking with Drusus, the presenter looks a lot younger. He got a 4 on his private session with the Gamemakers which causes my brows to furrow.

"I wanted to appear as less of a threat, so I flunked it," he explains his voice strained. Then we see the Games. We see Adair rise up, looking determined. Before flinging himself into the bloodbath, he takes out a girl in the fight for supplies and ends up running away with a spear and a couple backpacks.

"I got the first kill of the Games," he tells us simply. We watch from other Tributes perspectives as 14 Tributes in total are killed in the bloodbath. "The most in recent history," Adair informs us again. And I realize what an advantage he had with only nine Tributes to go against.

Then something surprising happens. He partners with a girl around his age from District 9. Long brown hair and a thin face she looks a lot like him. My heart leaps in shock when I see him kiss her on the fifth day of the Games.

"I don't know what I was thinking, we could not both get home." I watch in silence as they hide from other competitors. At night making their moves and taking out the competition. At the final four, she is killed. It's hard to see what happens, they took on another Tribute at night and her hair got caught in his fist. We see blood pool down her throat, the injury not quite caught on camera as Adair takes out the killer.

The Games are over that night. The Gamemakers forcing the final three together Adair takes them both out, fueled by grief and rage. There is no relief on his face when the trumpets are blasted and he is announced the winner, only grief.

"They killed Alston when I wouldn't let them sell me to the Capitol. Then my family," He explains softly, tears on the edge of his vision. "Then I had no one left. I couldn't do it. I couldn't do it because of her," he goes silent before bolting out of the room.

I am left staring at Flint thoughts so loud they drown out everything around me. No, District 12 is not supposed to win these Games.

 **Authors note: Hey! I hope you guys are enjoying the story! We are soo close to getting into the Games it's really crazy and I can't wait to go there with you!**

 **In the meantime, I have a couple of polls on my profile and would love and really appreciate it if you could fill those out and let me know your favorite and least favorite characters. This is purely curiosity (I think) as I don't have any plans to do with it but would really like to see your opinions on them. TLDR; fill out polls on my profile :)**

 **Thank you all for your support... There's a lot of exciting things in this storeys future!**

 **May the odds be ever in your favor,**

 **and,**

 **thank you for your sacrifice.**


	24. Trouble

**Aetius Valter, 54, The Capitol.**

Aetius is met with applause as he walks into the Gamemakers center the night of the Chariot rides. He just got in from watching them play outside. He is humming the Capitol anthem to himself.

He smiles down at the team he is in total control over, strutting across the walkway like a peacock he enjoys being higher than everyone else. Underneath him, the Gamemakers sit all around a holographic projection of the arena he decided on. He smiles as he noticed the final touches have been put in place.

It is ready for the Tributes.

Assistants rush around, hanging out coffee and supplies for the Gamemakers who are in for a very long night. They have to have the final touches done by tomorrow. Aetius has full faith in them. But he knows that they need to be worked hard.

But he does not have time to deliver a pep talk to them. And they have been trained not to expect one from him. The Chariot rides, while a success, have run late and intruded on an interview he committed to do. One with the President too.

He spots her waiting outside a large interview room, he lets out a relieved sigh as he realizes that Drusus has not arrived yet. There is time or him to talk alone with the President.

She looks up, still in her outfit from the speeches she looks fierce and determined. Yet the Gamemaker can no longer feel the same lust for her that he used to. Not after he figured out who her _friend_ truly was.

"Did you get the statistics I forward on last night?" He asks her, his voice not hostile yet it holds an arrogance that the President is not used to.

"I did," she replies, a testing note to her voice. Aetius has always been full of himself, but never rude to her, she will have to sort this out. "They are statistics to be proud of," she tells him, betting for the Games is already up 15% from last year, and 60% at this point of the Games. And viewer satisfaction is up 58%.

"It's not done yet though," she tells him, truly they have not even started climbing the mountain that will be this year's games. They have merely looked at it from afar, planning out the track and assembling a team.

"Yes," Aetius says, his voice slightly reproachful. He was looking for more praise. He deserves more praise. "Which is why I want to release the District 2 females goodbye," his voice is cold and calculated.

The President has to try extremely hard to mask the surprise on her face. All that shows is a twitch of one of her eyebrows. "And why would you want to d that?" She asks him, her voice dropping an octave the Gamemaker takes a deep breath.

"You saw the footage, you saw the violence in it. The Capitol will go crazy for it. Starting the Game's early," his eyes light up as he continues to speak at an increased pace. The President feels disgusted for the man. "And it could cause a rift in the Career pack, which would make for better viewings for the Capitol, they always get very excited when tensions are high with the Careers," his eyes shine and the President has no question of who edited the footage.

"No," The President's voice is flat and final. When Autius open his mouth to rebut she just glares at him. He stops in his tracks. There is an awkward moment between them before Drusus appears, the master of good timing he looks flamboyant in a dark blue suit with a pink and blue dress shirt sporting flamingos underneath. A matching handkerchief is in his pocket.

"Ready for the interview?" He asks excitedly, his face beaming. It's not often he gets to be around such powerful people. He does not wait for a reply instead he marches into the interview room, followed by a train of camera crew and assistants he starts bossing them around.

Aetius follows him in, seething with quiet resentment.

 **Authors note: I'm sorry guys about how many of these I'm putting out.**

 **1) I have this plan for the Capitol.**

 **2) I'm really struggling to write the training days fast so I'm trying to put these out for the meantime.**

 **Once I finish the first day of training chapter I'll have it out for you! I hope you don't mind these.**

 **Thank you all for putting up with me 33333**

 **As always,**

 **may the odds be ever in your favour**

 **and,**

 **thank you for your sacrifice.**


	25. Fight or Flight (TRAINING DAY 1)

**Weiss Forge 18, District 1.**

It feels strange as I walk toward a days training knowing that my father will not be there to mentor me. I'm too used to his rough voice, his eyes which are not quick to pride. The soft exhales that he would make that come out a little too raspy. The lessons he would tell me about the arena.

I'm mulling it over in my mind when I step into the elevator with Ace. He pushes the button, jamping his finger into the button that will take us to the training center further than the ground floor. We are not used to how delicate things are here. How softly you need to push things. In the Districts, you have to use all your force. Not here. Not until the Games.

"What do you think of the others?" I ask Ace as we descend, glass emcompases the elevator and I stare out at the Capitol. The sun is just starting to rise around us and it bathes this strange world in a golden light. I used to dream about what it would be like to live in these streets. With all my wants and needs taken care of. Being victor is as close as I will get to that.

"I don't know," Looking over at him I see him chewing his bottom lip. I get what he means. There is such a mix this year it will be hard to judge them before seeing what they can do at training. My mind wanders back to my own District, I wonder how the Academy is going, what my father is doing. Who he is training.

"I think that we need to watch out for Nate and Blake getting on eachothers nerves," Ace says thoughtfully. I didn't realise he picked up on those social clues. I wonder how perspective Ace is, underneath his laid back attitude.

"We should not have an issue there, now that Blakes picked a toy from District 6," I reply, our laughter echoes but there's some resentment tied into it too. I'm not here to argue with Nate, but we had to work hard for our spots. I guess I shouldn't be too bad, I can't see the girl lasting long. Blake will get sick of her.

The elevator door opens up with a soft noise and we look out towards the center. My eyebrows raise when I realize it's better equipped than anything I have ever seen before. Nets hang from high beams of the walls, large mats underneath them. Rows and rows of weapons are scattered around the place, gleaming the metallic colors they look ready to use on flesh. Dummys line up on walls and there are large rings for practicing fighting maneuvers with assistants. My father has already warned me I will not be able to fight my competitors. Which is a shame, I would like to see what the other Careers are made of.

Survival stations are found around the room, occupied by small looking trainers I know I could take them all easily.

We are some of the first ones to arrive so we walk over to where a trainer has gathered the handful of Tributes in a circle. We all wear mismatched clothing. But whereas Ace wears a shirt with the sleeves cut off to show rippling muscles the rest of them seem to take the opposite, wearing clothes with long sleeves and bagginess to hide their food deprived lives.

I smile at the group.

It's greeted with silence back.

 **Nathaniel Mattingly 18, District 2.**

I and Cassia are the last ones to arrive in the training centre. We seem to like making entrances and I smile, showing a full set of teeth as I walk in with her. I can't say I don't like making an entrance, and by the way Cassia's hips swing beside me it doesn't seem like she minds it either.

We stand next to the pair from District 1, they look at us cooly before we all fix our attention on the head trainer. He introduces himself to us as Vladilen, a name I promptly forget. But I listen closely to what he tells us. We have two full days and a morning to acquire as many skills as we can, we shouldn't underestimate survival stations and that we aren't allowed to touch other Tributes.

I flinch as I feel something being tagged to my back, looking over a trainer whispers that it is for identification. It's a piece of cloth with the number 2 on it. I watch Cassia jump when she gets the same treatment and smirk.

Staring around at the others at that, trying to make eye contact with the weakest looking Tributes. They all shy away from my contact. I snarl. Looking at the other Careers around me it seems they have already tried to intimidate. Ace wears a shirt that shows off bulging muscles and I glare at Blake as I notice he did not even bother to put a shirt on. They are going to have issues tagging a number on him.

When we are released, I march with the Careers over to a weapon station. They stand in a semi circle and I feel a rush at the power I feel. The girl from District 6 stands slightly back, looking unsure of herself and I smile right at her. She looks down at the floor.

"Alright Six, prove yourself," my voice cuts through the silence of the room like a knife and she narrows her eyes at me.

"How?" Her voice portrays that she's ready to take on a challenge.

"Cassia's going to chase you, if she pins you before I say you better not show your face here again," Blake opens his mouth like he's going to protest but Ace places a hand on his shoulder and gives him a hard look. He glares at the both of us.

"Ready?" This time I ask Cassia, she looks pissed off at what she's been told to do. But I know she'll do her job.

"Do whatever it takes," I say to the both of them. "Go," Esme dashes off toward the direction of the ropes and Cassia follows at a light jog. She looks over to me. Throwing a wink before speeding up across the training center, dodging dummies and survival stations in her wake.

"Right then, let's intimidate some Tributes," I tell the remaining group cracking my muscles I march over toward where gleaming weapons are hung. I grab the largest sword and swing it around in front of me before during to one of the dummies. I slash into it, enjoying the resistance it holds, the same as human flesh. Its like carving through butter.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" I bark at the rest of the group, realising they are staring at me. They quickly make their way to other areas, grabbing weapons we quickly make a show.

This is going to be too much fun.

 **Talia Lancaster, 15, District 3.**

"Where do you want to go?" I whisper to Callum. Almost every other Tribute is larger than me and I feel intimidated by their statues. Especially the Careers, they are _huge_ and the girls don't seem to smile.

Callum doesn't seem that intimidated. Just determined and we look around at the stations that are not being used. I notice that there is a pool near one corner of the room. "Think we will have to swim?" I ask him, worry evident in my voice. I've never swum before in my life. Neither has he.

Determination crosses his features and his eyebrows creased. He is as big as the smallest Career boy. Though he does not quite have the confidence of the boy from District 4. "Let's find out," he tells me, starting to walk over toward the pool I follow in his wake. Gnawing on the inside of my cheek. The nerves of this place getting the better of me. Weapons gleam from racks on the walls and I can hear that the Careers have got their hands on them.

I watch the boy from District 2 hack one of the training dummies to pieces as we walk across the room. My steps falter and Callum has to help support me, taking some of my weight he glares over in the Career's direction. I hope they don't notice.

"It's going to be okay," he tells me in a voice as low as a growl and I look up at him. Impossibly grateful that he is here for me, but impossible angry too. I don't think that my emotions will sort themselves out about this boy. But he may as well be my brother. And he's all I have. So I'll have to accept his decision. It's not my fault. He made it on his own.

We stop walking as we get to the edge of the pool and the trainer rushes out to greet us. She looks overly excited at our presence and lets it slip this is the first year of a pool at the training centre. My brows furrow. This might be more valuable than I thought.

She tells us to get into the water and we do so, our clothes feeling baggy in the cool temperature. She starts by demonstrating some basic strokes in water that goes up to my belly button then passes a foam mat to grab onto and practice kicking across to each edge.

It feels weird and wrong letting my body float on top of the water and the trainer keeps telling me to kick with my thighs not knees. Angry tears spot my cheeks as I fail to get it right. Callum looks over to me, spotting my upset expression he drops his board. Letting it float to the deep edge of the pool.

Ignoring the trainers praise he wraps me in a tight hug. "We can stay here all day if we need," he tells me, his voice fiercely protective.

 **Carolyn Aquana, 17, District 4.**

A run is what I need to clear my head.

It's been too foggy since I arrived here.

The other Careers are off intimidating and being bossed around by Nate so I walk away, no one seems to notice. They are all too caught up in trying to be the best. I watch as they move onto throwing knives, laughing to each other the blades are passed around casually. But they are on my left side. I can't hear very clearly what they are saying.

I walk around to the edge of the training centre. There is a track that goes around it, protected by a glass layer to stop the accidental, or not, weapon. Taking a deep breath I close my eyes, imagining the sea from home and the soft noise that the waves make when they crash on the waves.

I can smell the salt when I open my eyes.

And it almost feels like I'm carving my way through the sand again when I take off. Like on the last day of being inside of my District.

Almost.

There is no younger boy here.

Rhythmic breaths come out as I suck too cool air back in, pumping my muscles I pace myself. I want to spend as little time with the other Career's as possible. I know I have to like them. They are my ticket to the top eight.

But god its hard.

Nate and his follow my lead or go away attitude. Weiss and her _my father's a Victor_ prestige. Cassia and her damsel in distress act and I growl thinking about Blake. It will be a miracle if he makes it to the final eight. Surely, one of us will kill him first. Ace seems like the only decent one, you can see the determination for victory in his eyes. We all have it.

But I know I can't kill Blake.

He's from home after all.

But I certainly wouldn't mind if someone else did.

"If you run any slower you're going to turn into a snail," the voice catches me off guard. To the left. I stop in my tracks to see who said it.

A largely tanned boy with braided hair leans against the clear glass layer that protects the track. He wears a lazy smile on his face.

"I didn't realise you were one to talk, peg leg."

He laughs at that, his face gleaming in a handsome smile.

"Capitol fixed me right up, you better watch your back," he hops from one foot to another as if to prove his point.

I roll my eyes and start to run again.

He follows me from the outside of the glass.

"Don't you have anything better to do?" My voice sounds irritated, I don't have time for this boy. But I can't stand being watched while I run.

"I'm quite happy here," his smiles are now irritating. Like his too bushy eyebrows.

"If you don't leave me alone I will kill you first," my voice comes out a growl.

"Sure you will, darling."

I bite my tongue and speed up, leaving him in his tracks I push myself hard enough until it is only the beating of my heart in my one good ear that I can hear.

It almost feels like home.

 **Oliver Apollo, 17, District 5.**

I and Caroline haven't talked since the Chariots. Her puking caught me off guard and I don't know how to feel about it. Maybe it's just nerves. But she seems awfully skittish lately, like a pin drop could set her off.

She left me as soon as we arrived at the Training Centre, I can see her now, at the edible plant station. She looks distracted as the trainer talks to her. I shake her out of my head, I need to focus on myself.

I take large steps towards one of the rings, no one else seems to be going to them yet so I make the most of a free trainer. He reminds me of Chris with his attractive physique and a pangue goes through me.

I jump up, bringing my body through the ropes I get into the ring.

"Hey," the trainer seems happy to see me.

"Can you teach me how to fight?" I don't bother with the niceties. I'm here for one purpose, and I have such little time.

He nods, bringing out fabric that looks like bandages he straps up my hands. The small moment of contact makes me long for Dwayne. I haven't touched anybody since being reaped. A stark contrast to what I was doing beforehand.

The trainer starts me off simply, bringing out some padded squares he gets me to punch one after another. Working on my technique. Swing with the hips. He power comes from the hips.

I thud my gloved hands against his padding again and again, until sweat streams down my face and makes my vision blur.

"Let's take a break," the trainer tells me, passing over a bottle of water there is something in it that makes it taste off. He chuckles at my expression.

"It's got electrolytes in it. For muscle recovery." I nod along, like I have any idea what he's talking about.

Taking my gaze from the ring for the first time in a while I noice another Tribute looking over at me, a thoughtful expression on her face.

The intimidating looking girl from District 9.

I wave over at her and she promptly looks away from me, back to the station she is at I watch her spark a flint almost instantaneously and create fire.

 **Jerry Kapper, 15, District 6.**

I know I shouldn't. But I feel betrayal at the way that Esme joined the Careers. She was from home. She would have been a valuable ally inside of the Games. Now I'm left alone. The Training Centre is intimidating without somebody else to guide me and I wonder what my brother would do.

He would find a friend.

He always had lots of friends.

But he wasn't shy like me.

So I walk by myself over to an unoccupied station. Its an edible plant station and my heart sinks when I realise I don't recognize any of the plants in it. But the trainer is a kind lady, she takes her time taking me through the different plants.

I only get slightly squeamish when she gets into the different ways the poisonous plants can kill you. One causes internal bleeding. One causes suffocation. One causes you to lose your sight. One causes you to puke your guts out. One causes you to rot from the insides out.

Partway through explaining this a malnourished boy sits next to me. Thin copper wire holds up glasses with huge lenses and he listens curiously as the trainer explains the different plants. He has a little notebook and starts writing things down in it.

I blush when I realise I don't have one and I try to get as much of the trainers information into my mind. But the only clear message I get from the session is not to get any of the plants. I hope the meat is easier to catch or Tributes won't be my only problem.

"We have those at home," the boy from District 12 says, pointing to some dark purple berries. I can't remember if they are the ones that cause you to rot from the inside out of cause internal bleeding. I guess they may as well be the same in this context.

"Wouldn't you get rid of all the plants?" I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.

"Sometimes people like to take the easy way out," he replies simply. Before walking off towards a camouflage station.

 **Willow Ashes, 16, District 7.**

"Final few," the trainers supportive voice is what gets me through the last few axe throws that I am practicing. She has me working with heavier ones than back home and the weight strains my muscles in ways they are not used to.

When my final axe thunks into the stomach of the dummy and she claps softly. Offering me a high five I take it with a relieved smile on my face. Proud of what I have done.

I have never trained like this before. The closest I've gotten is my scurrys up the trees racing Marc and that could never compare to this. The pressure you feel with an impossibly knowledgeable menor watching your back. Her eyes seem to dig into my flesh.

Nirvana laughed at me when I said I wanted to work on ax throwing. He said it was the only thing I could do well. But like everything the Capitol has added their own touch and I am glad that I got the chance to practice with these ones. They are closer to what we will get inside the arena and weighted differently from the axes at home.

These ones are weighted for killing.

"What were you doing with the girl from District 4?" I ask Nirvana, he is trying to create a snare, but his chunky fingers get in the way of the thin wire. He ignores me, continuing to try to tie his snare I can tell already he does not have the precision to make it work.

And my prediction comes true.

The snare tangles in on itself as soon as he tries to test it out and Nirvana yells in a fit of rage, hitting the snare and standing up abruptly. I scootch over to his position, using nimble fingers I fix his mistakes. Correcting the misplaced string I wait for his answer.

It is only when the snare correctly snaps onto my finger does he give it to me.

"Flirting,"

I laugh out loud, a snort coming from my nose that causes me to cover my mouth in embarrassment. Nirvana laughs, it booms around the Training Centre and my cheeks go pink.

"Why?" I ask.

"Because she's cute."

 **Weft Loomis, 15, District 8.**

I left Violet as soon as the head trainer stopped talking. I feel bad about what happened last night. But not what I said. She needs to look tough for the sponsors to pay us any attention, and on the Chariot she looked like she was about to cry.

I've spent the morning wandering aimlessly around the different stations, stopping briefly at ones that catch my eye but not feeling like I can commit to any of them. There's just so much here. I need to take it all in. Not spend too long at one.

I know what my father would tell me to do. He would tell me to focus on the survival stations, try and get as much knowledge into my brain as possible. My brothers would tell me to go to the weapons, spend as much time learning how to protect myself and get ready to hurt the others.

I don't know whose voice in my head that I trust.

Looking up I take in the Training Centre. I get a jolt of fright when I realize the Game Makers are up there. They wear deep purple dress shirts with black pants and a crimson cape coming off of a large black coat. The outfit seems absurd, but on the Game Maker's it is oddly fitting. They stare down at the Tributes. I can see them laughing and chatting to themselves.

I need to get their attention.

I walk over to where one of the large nets is, grabbing the thick rope in one hand I squeeze it. It feels rough and course under the calluses on my hands and I bite my cheek determinedly as I pull my arms up and place my feet in the first gap in the netting I can find.

Slowly, I start to make my way up the netting. I know I can get their attention if I can get to the top. It's almost like climbing in some of the vents in the factory. When I have to shimmy up pipes that reach to the ceiling and only harsh ledges creating spots to get my grip on.

One arm after the other, shallow breaths, extended legs. I make my way up, forcing my muscles to push themselves I need to show the others that I'm more than a 15 year old. I'm someone to watch out for. Someone to get the Sponsors attention.

Something whizzes by my shoulder and I look down alarmed, right into the eyes of the biggest Career. In my shock, I forget where I am. What I'm doing. My body goes slack and one of my legs gets caught in the rope. I scream out as I dangle from my ankle above the ground.

I didn't realise how high I got and the ground sways below me, a dizziness comes over my head, making it foggy as pain from my ankle stabs through me. Panicking I swing back and forth, trying to dislodge my ankle from the rope.

The Careers laugh below me.

In an instant I am free falling, catering downward the ground I squeeze my eyes closed. In my mind I tumble over and over, in a dizzy abyss.

It ends when I hit the ground.

 **Cole Rockweld, 15, District 9.**

I watch as a boys falls.

He looks like he has gone limp, his eyes squeezed tightly closed and body slack. I watch as he hits a large safety map underneath him. The Careers are standing nearby and laugh at the thumbs his body makes against the mat. Capitol attendants rush over as well as some of the trainers.

I look away, his pain is his own business.

The trainer takes a moment to realise I am there at the archery station. He was watching the boy fall too. But when he notices me he seems happy enough, handing me a bow to practice with he gives me some basic pointers.

I spend the rest of the afternoon with him, focusing on body position and the best way to pull the heavy bowstring back. I take my time before grabbing an arrow. There is no point until I get the fundamentals right. The trainer laughs at my technique but humors me, constantly critiquing me he makes jokes and settles the ball of nerves in my stomach.

Eventually, I let him hand me an arrow. It's a unique feeling to handle a loaded weapon. One I never thought that I would feel. The power seeps from the arrow into my bones. It causes adrenaline to pump through me. The trainer starts me off by shooting at a basic target, I don't even come close the first few times.

I lose my technique with the power of the bow.

But when the adrenaline has calmed I take a deep breath, remembering everything that I have practiced I take a deep breath and release the arrow on my exhale. It seems to move in slow motion towards the target.

My jaw drops when it embeds itself into the bullseye.

The trainer claps and I whoop with joy. Jumping up and down I forget about all of the other tributes around me in my moment of victory.

The moment of euphoria is the greatest I have felt since my name was called from that glass bowl.

I hope it lasts forever.

 **Eva Brath, 14, District 10.**

Trav and I decided to take on the Training Centre together. We have been moving from station to station all of today. My body drops from exhaustion, the day is almost over. We've gone from survival stations all day, learning poisonous plants, how to make a snare, basics in camouflage, what to do if we are caught at night without shelter. It's been tedious work, my mind feels fuller than it ever has before.

But I glow. Despite the looks of the Careers and the way, they intimidate me. Despite Trav's offhand comments about how out of our league we are. I am learning. That is the best thing I could ever think of.

I never got the opportunity to learn much at home. The schools just taught our history and how to do basic sums. They would never in a million years teach us what we are being taught today. You can't wipe the smile off of my face at the knowledge that I am gaining.

I wonder what my sisters thought when they were learning all of this. What stations they visited and which trainers they liked. I like the small man in the snares station with the kind eyes. And the funny woman who taught me how to stay warm using leaves found off of the ground. I won't die of exposure due to her. Provided that there are leaves. There always are. There are always trees.

But not always.

Last year the arena was set with broken down buildings everywhere and amble rubble to use for weapons. They didn't supply many weapons in the bloodbath that year. Instead, the Tributes had to get creative. The year before the arena was a desert, baking hot the Game Makers had pools of water that turned deadly with fierce mutts protecting them and poisoned sips.

They need to shake things up.

There will be trees.

"Let's end the day biting the bullet," I tell Trav, standing next to them and looking over the Training Centre.

They nod, we walk together to a station we have been skirting around all day. Throwing knives.

The trainer looks exhausted, apparently a busy day she smiles half heartedly at us as she starts to go into the theory of the knives. My heart hammers in my chest. Once I throw a knife it all gets too real. There will be a human being on the other end of it in the arena.

Am I really ready to kill someone?

 **Harvest Kohl, 15, District 11.**

"So, what did you do?" Dale asks us as soon as we get back into our apartment.

Both of us are exhausted so we collapse on the plush coaches, sighing loudly as avoxes rush over and hand us glasses of a steaming liquid. I nod them thanks. Sweat has coated my shirt so it sticks to me.

"We went around the survival stations just like you said. Not showing anyone what we could do," I reply as I sip my too hot drink. It burns my tongue but it's nice to have something that hot. I've never felt anything like it before.

"All the other Tributes look so scary," Poppy blurts out.

I look over to her. Surprised at her outburst, she drops her eyes to the ground, glaring at it. My heart aches for her and I reach out a hand. Placing one of my large ones into hers the connection feels warm and right.

"It's going to be alright," I tell her.

I know she doesn't believe me.

"Would you consider an alliance with any of the others?" Wren asks, her voice thoughtful.

"No," Violets reply is hard and I nod along. "We can't trust anyone. Not like we trust each other."

I hear our mentors sigh and I wonder about the others, the pair from District 3 looked alright. But when Violet has her mind set on something there is no changing it so I don't bother to try and fight it. Anyways, I don't like the idea of bringing anyone else in. We are both so close. We need each other. We always have.

We need each other. Not anyone else.

"Tomorrow we want you to focus on weapons, ones you're not any good at to try and get some basic knowledge." Wren tells us and Dale nods along.

I nod back. My stomach constricting into a knot.

I don't want to have to learn how to kill.

But I'll have to if I want Poppy to come home.

 **Flint Fraser, 13 District 12.**

Today was tiring, I have droopy eyes after dinner. Fighting to stay awake as Adair talks to me and Pricilla. We are getting along since last night. With a deeper understanding of our mentor, something has clicked inside both of us. How real these Games are.

Adair seems to notice our tiredness and sends us to bed early. Taking a deep gulp from a glass that has ice cubes in it and a rich brown liquid that he says we are not allowed to try. I don't mind. I'm used to waiting till I grow up to try things.

I hope that liquid is another thing I get the chance to try someday.

I run a bath, still sticky from training today it only takes a moment to fill up, soft mint bubbles lying on the surface of the water I relax into the smooth feeling of the water against my bare skin. This is something that I will miss when I have to return to the Districts.

The food and the baths of the Capitol.

I stay in the water far too long, impossibly tired when I get out my body is all wrinkled and soft. Stepping on a bathmat drys me instantaneously and my cheeks go red from the blast of heat. I am smiling softly to myself when I walk back into my room.

I cry in shock when I see Adair sitting on the edge of my bed. Immediately trying to cover my privates with my hands I feel my mouth wide open.

He laughs a booming laugh at my expression, throwing over a pair of boxers I catch them as my face turns bright red. I slip them on in the bathroom.

"What are you doing here?" I ask the imposing man when I reappear, only half naked.

"Talking Game." He tells me, his good eye glazing over. "You'll need strong allies if you want to make it far in the Games. You need to find some tomorrow."

"What about Pricilla?" My curiosity gets the better of me.

His voice turns strained. "Pricilla's going to be playing a different Game to you. What you need are allies. What she needs is different," something about his pained expression shows me that he's not telling the complete truth. But I shake it off. He will have his reasons.

"Okay," I reply, I am already thinking about all of the options I may have.

 **Authors note: Wowzers sorry that chapter was hard for me to write. I'm not too sure why I struggled with it so much but it really took something out of me.**

 **The second day of training will hopefully come out soon too! Things will be heating up in the Capitol as well so I hope you're ready for lots more about of Game Maker and President.**

 **Please make sure to leave a review as that is what keeps me writing!**

 **May the odds be ever in your favor,**

 **and,**

 **Thank you for your sacrifice.**


	26. Repercussions

**Ziva Crimson, 27, The Capitol.**

"Ziva, get in here!" Anya's voice sounds alarmed and the President rushes out of her office. She was just putting some things away as Anya watched replays of the reapings and Chariots on the television. Several commentators have already made predictions and their commentaries were being overlaid the Tributes clips when the President left.

"What's wrong?" She asks, her voice shows a faint trickle of worry that she was trying her best to hide. She has got so good about hiding her emotions. But never around Anya. She can't be shut off around Anya.

When she rounds the corner she sees Anya staring at the television. The President takes one look over at what the screen portrays before her face drops. She feels wet hot rage bubble inside of her at the realization of the betrayal.

The screen has been paused, white blonde hair has been turned to the camera, the tall figure almost blocking the room out of view. But it's unmistakable. It's the Justice Building in District 2. It's the female Tributes reaping.

"That bastard," Anya mutters, her turquoise eyes still portraying the surprise she feels at what is being shown on the screen. The President's blood boils. Aetius has disobeyed a direct order from his President. This is betrayal. This is treason.

"What are you going to do?" Anya asks her, her voice soft as she moves her body towards the President. Wrapping her arms around the other woman's back she makes soft circling motions on the Presidents stomach. They calm both of them down.

The Presidents mind goes over all of the possibility. Every plan every result every way it all could go wrong. But it already has. "I'm going to deal with the traitor," she tells Anya, turning her head she brushes her lips with her. Both of the women's hearts flutter at that moment. For more than one reason.

"Is that wise for what you're already planning?" Anya's voice is barely a whisper but the President can hear it as clear as day from the proximity of their bodies. It is true the President is planning nothing like ever before. So large she does not even want to admit it to herself.

"That's exactly why I have to do it," she replies. Bringing her lips to Anyas. For better or for worse the President has made her mind up.

 **Aetius Valter, 54, The Capitol.**

Aetius was expecting repercussion from the video leak. Even if it couldn't be traced back to him he knew that the President would have her suspicions. He thought that maybe she would send someone to have a private chat with him. Even herself if he was _lucky_ enough. He had it already planned out in his head. Revenge is a dish best served cold. What he did not expect was for this. For an army.

Peacekeepers have swarmed his home, more than he has ever seen in one place before. In pristine trucks as polished as mirrors they have turned his home into a siege. He feels his heartbeat accelerate in his chest. He did not expect this from the President. She has always been known for being merciful.

He watches as she walks up to his door, apparently, she is a Peacekeeper now. Wearing an outfit similar to their white robes body armor bulks him her slim frame. But the fierce look in her eyes is nothing like Aetius has ever seen before. It brings some of his old longing back.

"Open up," she tells him, her voice void of all emotion.

He does as she asks, trying to keep a cool persona his hand shakes as he opens the door knob. She could keep this meeting on the low if she wanted to. She wants witnesses. She wants this to leak. That is what scares the Head Game Maker.

She stares him off. Her small frame seems larger than life in her combat outfit. They obviously thought Aetius could be a threat. He finds that amusing. Forgetting his powerfully muscled physique he could never make himself physically harm the President. No matter how much he might want to.

She takes a deep breath. "From this moment onward you have been revoked from the position of Head Gamemaker and banned from visiting the Game Making facilities. Your contribution to the Games has been greatly appreciated but not enough to overlook this _treason_." She spits the word out like it is venom and Aetius feels sweet relief.

He got his revenge.

"You will be under house arrest until these Games are through, to be under 24-hour surveillance. If you try to leave you will be shot on sight. Is that clear?" Aetius feels his heart clench, he balls his hands into fists at his sides so the President does not see them shake with rage. He has made the Games take another step up. One she was not prepared to make. He should be praised. Not punished.

"What will happen to me after the Games?" He asks, his voice a deep growl.

The President doesn't back down. "If you behave you will be sent to live out the rest of your life as a Peacekeeper. If you don't, well I understand you have a family burial tomb?"

 **Ziva Crimson, 27, The Capitol.**

"What are you going to do now?" Anya asks the President. Her makeup has been smudged from tears. Some from anger. Some from grief. She thought that she could rely on her Game Maker.

"We need to find someone to replace him. Fast." The President replies, getting up from her hunched position she shakes stiffness out of her limbs. "The press has already caught hold of the story, this will only work if we have someone better to replace him."

"There are plenty of senior Game Makers, why not look over their files? Find one interesting enough to replace him."

The President mulls that idea over. The arena is basically built the mutts ready. All the Game Maker has to do is be a figure piece. Someone to be the face of the Games. "No, that's not quite interesting enough to warrant this. It's been leaked what happened but not the reasoning. That needs to stay in the dark."

Anya nods her head. Her brow furrowed in concentration. The two women sit in silence for a few moments, their thoughts seeming to leap into the air and speak for them in a form of silent communication.

"Aetius has a son right, why not him?" It's an intriguing idea, the President thinks. Replacing one member of the family with another. But doesn't fit quite right. It needs to be someone that Aetius cannot corrupt. Someone away from him. Someone away from the Politics of the Capitol.

Anya notices the President's eyes light up with an idea and waits for her answer. "It just needs to be someone that is the headpiece of the Games. The Games will run with the senior Game Makers. Someone we can guarantee is not corrupt. Someone that will make a splash. Someone that the Capitol will recognize." Anya nods her head along the President's rambling, trusting the other woman completely.

"I have just the man," she tells Anya.

"Even if he does not know it yet."


	27. Exploration (TRAINING DAY 2)

**Ace Platinum, 18, District 1.**

It feels wrong waking up in the mornings without my girlfriend beside me. Without the smooth silhouette of her back, without the soft touch of her lips without the warm patches she leaves in the bed from her body heat.

It's been impossibly empty without her.

It's been less than a week that I've been gone from my District but it feels like it has been months. Full of unfamiliar faces and new places and experiences it truly is once in a lifetime. Hopefully not mine.

Surrounded by luxury my home is a far cry from the flat that I have owed the past couple of years. But everything here feels shiny and new, no leaky roofs, no friendly neighbours. Only those who want to kill me

At breakfast I make small talk with Weiss, she's nicer than I expected but does not seem to want to open up to me. I'm not surprised. It will make it easier for us to kill each other later on if we do not know much about each other. Even District partners have to die. But she's nice enough for me to want her to win if I can't. We can look out for each other.

I know that Bastion is quietly confident in me, I see it in the way his eyes have been shining since arriving here. I have never seen the young mentor so happy before. He's like a completely different person. I like this version of him more.

The elevator takes us back down again at lightning fast speed and Vladilen gives us a quicker talk. We all arrive on time today. I take my gaze to the rest of the Tributes, creating targets in my mind. Who I want to take out in the bloodbath. Who will go down with a fight.

 **Cassia Slander, 16, District 2.**

Nate has no jobs for me to do today so when we are let out I make my way over to a platter of knives. They gleam metallic in the harsh lights of the centre and I pick one up, testing its weight on my palm I propel it towards a dummy.

It hits it right in between the eyes.

I hear a tribute whistle behind me and look over to spot Nate behind me. I roll my eyes at him, a soft laugh issuing from my lips as I grab another knife and throw it with as much force as I can muster.

It hits the other knife and sends a boom around the walls of the training center that causes me to wince.

"Cute but psycho," Nate winks at me as he grabs a knife of his own. He throws it at the same dummy, missing the knife that is still in it by a centimeter.

I raise a single eyebrow at him and he raises one back. "It would still kill them," he says confidently, brushing off his miss throw he winks at me. I smile back. Looking over Nates shoulder I spot the girl from District 6 - Esme watching us.

I smile over at her and Nate turns his head. Looking at her with a cool gaze that causes her to flinch and walk along. She starts climbing up a rock wall. I turn my attention back to Nate, taking a step closer to him, more aware than I should be about the proximity of our body's.

"What do you think of the others?" I ask Nate, my voice low, the others seem to give us too much attention. Maybe they are already realising that we are the ones to beat.

"Shouldn't be too much of an issue. I don't like Blake but that's no surprise." I nod along to what he is saying.

"I don't like Carolyn." I don't know what it is about her. But she seems like the kind of girl that can't be trusted. Someone that would turn on you in a heartbeat. Nates eyebrows rise in surprise.

"I'd have her over Esme any day," he tells me, humor to his voice.

"Esme's not that bad she proved herself yesterday." I remind him, she was surprisingly hard to catch and if I admit I didn't really want her out of the alliance. She keeps Blake out of all of our faces.

"Let's just see how she does in the Games," Nate replies, cracking his knuckles.

 **Callum Lennon, 18, District 3.**

Today, we decide to try out the weapons first. Placing hands on the sharp objects seems foreign and I can tell that they scare Talia. But we need to learn if we want to survive. Especially her. I know I am not going to return from these Games. But she might. If we get lucky. If I am willing to sacrifice everything. I am.

The Trainer is a nice man. He moves our hands to the right places which mean we will get the most force out of the weapons and laughs and jokes with us. Taking some of the fear from the objects. None of us are comfortable though.

I've had a lot of time to think lately.

Sleepless nights.

I wonder if death hurts. My mother and Wren both faced it head-on. I need to somehow be as strong as them too. But no drugs will be able to help me. The worst of the heartbreak has already been faced. All I have is my will power and desire that the girl beside me deserves to live a lot more than I do. She does.

But how do I teach the deepest animal instinct inside of me, to life that?

I'm not too sure.

Looking over at Talia now I watch as she throws some knives at a big target a few meters away, shes okay. But nothing like the Careers. I have been watching them out of the corner of my eye, they are pure death.

I never used to believe in the supernatural.

But they truly are grim reapers.

 **Blake Calloun, 17, District 4.**

I smirk to myself as I walk across the training centre. The assistants had a word with me yesterday about not wearing a shirt. They couldn't pin a number on me for the Gamemakers who watch to see. I flirted back. I don't have a shirt on today either.

Taking a couple of brief steps I propel myself up a rock wall, startling Esme I laugh at the shocked expression on her face and the way her cheeks flushed pink at the proximity of my shirtless body to hers.

"How's it going? I ask, my teeth flashing into a smile.

She rolls her eyes. "It was peaceful until you got here."

"You know you want me," I throw her a wink.

"Actually, you see that over there?" She points to a large target. I nod along.

"I want you to go stand in front of it while Nate throws a spear at your face."

I place my hands over the centre of my chest, slightly to the left and let out a deep sigh. "You have broken my heart, and here I thought we were doing so well at getting along." Mock seriousness is etched into my voice as she raises her eyebrows at me.

"Yeah, getting along." She laughs, losing the seriousness to her tone she smiles while she looks over the training centre from our vantage point. I look over with her, watching other Tributes attempt stations they have no business trying I laugh as a scrawny looking boy drops something that he was holding. Narrowly avoiding it hitting his foot.

"Alright, let's play a Game," the thought pops into my head quickly and I look over to Esme's confused expression.

"What kind of Game?"

"Truth, dare, kiss."

She rolls her eyes.

 **Caroline Hollyhock, 17, District 5.**

I screwed things up with Oliver. I know that now. Watching him chat with the girl from District 9 makes me realise I lost a valuable ally. I have probably lost any chances of alliances. But I don't care. They just can't know my one secret I have left.

It is a secret I will most likely take to the grave with me.

I walk over to the edible plant station, I have been spending a lot of time at it lately. The Trainer is a nice, older woman who has patience and a knack of figuring out when to push me and when to give me a moment. She has kind eyes.

"You need to learn how to use a weapon," it is her voice that gets me out of my daydreams. Dreaming of a different life with a different person. Yet in the same District. Her outburst surprises me and I look at her with inquiring eyes.

"Why?"

"Because you'll need them if you want to survive."

"I thought you weren't allowed to talk to me about anything but plants?" Why is this older woman helping me. She has spent so long watching Tributes be prepared for slaughter.

"I thought Tributes were supposed to go in alone. But I guess we are both breaking the rules here." Her voice is not exactly harsh. But it's message sends a jolt through me as powerful as an electric shock.

I look at the woman with hard eyes.

"Point taken."

 **Esme Layton, 17, District 6.**

I've been sitting up on this platform with Blake for awhile. He's oddly charming when he wants to be. Even if I can't get the image of his goodbyes out of my mind.

"Truth," he answers my question confidently, we have been playing his Game for awhile and I have to admit it's fun. It makes me feel young, reminds me of when I used to play a similar game with Riley.

"Why'd you volunteer?"

"I was sick of the same old same old of my District. Ready for the glory of Victory. It's a bit of a hassle though, I wouldn't of minded waiting for next year to volunteer." He winks at me. "Although, you make it worth volunteering early."

I leave my face emotionless, yet I can feel a blush creeping up my cheeks. I hope he doesn't notice it. By his smirk I think he does. I ignore it.

"Truth," I reply to his unspoken question.

"Why'd you agree to join the Careers?"

My eyebrows furrow, I wasn't expecting this question from Blake. "Partly the danger of it," I admit, chewing on my lip. "Partly because it's stupid." Blake smirks again. "Partly because I imagined the expression on my best friends face when he finds out and that was priceless." Blake laughs out loud at this.

"Is he the one that the Peacekeepers beat?" His voice is blunt.

"He would do anything for me." My mind drifts back to the night before I was reaped. Of the crane. Of the adrenaline. Of my District partners brother. I wish I had just spent more time with Riley. He deserved more.

"Looks like I've got some tough competition then."

I look over at him, at his surfer boy style, his too long hair, his tanned chest and the way his muscles seem to ripple even in stillness. His freckles are cute, even over such sharp jawbones. "I don't think you'd have much competition anywhere." I tell him.

"Kiss."

 **Nirvana Ivanov, 18, District 7.**

My Uncle has already taught me so much about the Games and what to do inside of them these training days almost see like a waste of time. Instead of trying to learn new skills like the other Tributes I instead decide to try and pick out the biggest threats.

It's a no-brainer that the Careers are the strong ones.

But there are also other alliances forming.

Ones I need to keep an eye on.

I know that I can trust Willow, she's not _stupid_ , but she's stupid enough that I'll be able to take her out when the time comes. Well I won't be able to, its looked down upon in the Districts to kill your partner, unless you are down to the very last Tributes.

But I'm sure I could lure her into a trap set by another Tribute. Or create an _accident_ that would take her out of cause one of my axes to land in the wrong target. But for now she is what I need. Someone good with plants and snares. Someone to keep me alive long enough to kill the others. I never paid too close attention to my Uncles food based lessons. I don't regret that. More time for hunting and killing.

Willow looks over to me now, making another perfect snare I just stare coolly. She needs to earn respect, its a delicate balance, but I can tell that she likes a challenge. But when I'm around her my stomach squirms. It's nothing like I've felt before. But the more I push her, the more I ignore her accomplishments and watch her fight for my respect the feeling gets greater.

It's a feeling I enjoy.

Almost enough to not think about killing her.

Almost.

 **Violet Mercury, 14, District 8.**

Weft made it pretty obvious he wanted nothing to do with partnering with me. It hurt at first. When he abandoned be without another word yesterday. Till I watched him fall. Sweet revenge coursed through my veins as he fell from the high platform.

He carries a limp and scrapes today. The Capitol has done enough not to _really_ affect his chances in the Games. But enough to make him squirm. Karma is a dish best served cold. Walking over to the snares station I take my time today learning about a snare that will leave competitors hanging high above.

When I have mastered the snare the Trainer shows me how much force is required to cut someone's throat. Its less than I expected. The dummy he uses to show me has fake blood and it spills over the dummy's neck.

I hear the droplets hit the floor.

When I do it as well I get it perfect, almost too perfect, I manage to go cleanly into the windpipe. Something the Trainer did not expect and he applauds softly. I smile back up at him, imagining Weft in front of my blade.

Maybe I was wrong.

Maybe revenge is a dish served piping hot.

As hot as blood.

 **Kalista Stone, 17, District 9.**

Oliver Apollo. The boy from District 5. My first alliance member. I watched him yesterday, sparing with the Trainer he had skill. Raw and untrained skill but still nonetheless it was skill. And he's strong.

He's got a face I can trust too. Boyish but old beyond his years too. Something about it draws me toward him and he was happy to ally with me as well. We make an intimidating pair. It's become more common over recent years for Tributes from different Districts to ally. But it usually only starts inside of the Games.

It's too good an opportunity to miss. Especially with the competitors of this years Games. All so strong. It will be a battle for whoever gets out. Maybe it will be me. Maybe it won't. I'll give them a show they won't forget.

"What about the girl from your District?" I ask him, thinking of more possible allies. As much as I like the pair of us one more wouldn't hurt. Compared to the seven of the Careers this year the more the merrier.

"I don't trust her. I think she's hiding something." Oliver says, standing next to me we both rest our gaze on the woman. She's aceing the edible pants station. Almost easily. I don't like the idea of a poisonous berry taking me out of these Games, her knowledge could be extremely valuable.

"Trust is important in any relationship," I tell Oliver, marching over to where the woman stands he sighed in defeat next to me. Running a hand through his hair.

I stop slightly in front of the women. Caroline. That's her name. The one whos in love with her best friend. We all know everyone's deepest secrets now.

"Hey, you." I motion toward her, she looks back at me confused, then to her District partner who stares at his feet beside me.

"You're in." I tell her.

A smile lights up her face.

 **Trafalgar "Trav" Zaun, 15, District 10.**

Eva and I have decided on an official alliance. It seemed like the right thing to do at this stage. Both of us caring for each other enough to not want to ruin the possibility of going in together. Protecting each other. It will be extremely valuable to know I have someone I can trust completely at my back.

She's silent a lot of the time but it suits us just fine. I prefer to be left to my own thoughts anyways. For our last afternoon at the Training Centre we decide to spend it in peace, tying knots with a Trainer who seems older than this building.

He beams at us, his skin oddly tanned for a Capitol resident and reminding me more of one of the men you would find in District 4. Maybe it's another one of those fashion statements. But he has a kind voice and patient fingers as he demonstrates knots to us, we copy crudely.

"I'm scared," Eva admits to me quietly when the Trainer has rushed off to grab more rope from another station.

I understand what she is going through. I'm terrified. Thought I would never admit it. Not even to myself.

"We will be okay," I tell her, staring intensely at my knot.

I see her nod in the corner of my vision.

It will all be okay.

I try to convince myself this time.

 **Poppy Northrop, 15, District 11.**

"Come on! There's something we haven't tried yet," Harvest yells to me, grabbing my hands in his we rush across the floor of the Training Centre together. This is no time for laughter but giggles escape my throat at the goofy smile on his sweaty face. It's been a long two days.

He pulls me to the swimming pool.

My eyebrows raise.

"Think we will have to swim? I ask him, slightly excited about the possibility of touching the water. I have never had the option of swimming before.

"Let's find out," he tells me, walking over to the pool he stands on the edge as an exhausted-looking Trainer comes over to us. He offers a smile as I stand on the edge of the pool next to Harvest. Who gets a mischievous expression on his face.

"What are you thinking?" I ask him, laughter edging from my lips at his grin.

"This."

He pushes me.

For a moment I am falling, trapped in the air in a downward motion I squeeze my eyes tightly closed. Then I hit the water, I open my eyes in delight as I start to blow bubbles out of my nose and mouth. It makes a strange sensation I have never felt before and I giggle under the water.

My feet get a grip on the tiles beneath me and I propel myself up, finding the water is just shallow enough to stand with my head tilted upward to suck in air. Harvest laughs down at me, propelling himself into the water he causes a wave to splash over me. I grin at his silliness.

He surfaces right in front of me, blowing water into my face I giggle.

"Are you two kids done mucking around?" The Trainer asks, laughter clear in his voice.

"Yes sir," Harvest replies cheekily.

 **Pricilla Winters, 15, District 12.**

Bad dreams have haunted my sleep since I arrived here. Waking up in cool sweats with my body trembling I can't get the idea of my own death out of my mind. How morbid. At 15 I am already wondering if it will hurt to die.

I wonder what happens after death.

I've never really thought about it before.

All I have known is living.

I wake from another one of these fits. I went to sleep without dinner. The Training Sessions are almost over. Only a morning left and I feel like I have learned nothing. Not nearly enough to secure my survival. But I have to keep trying.

I walk out of my room, wrapped in a white dressing gown that feels like clouds I walk into the dining cart. Sleepy-looking Avoxes line the walls. Their eyes snapping to attention when they notice me. I wave them off. I do not need their help.

I grab a mug of hot chocolate and sit on the coach in the sitting room.

I jump slightly in fright when I realise I am not alone. Another pair of eyes glimmer in the darkness out to me. Some chocolate drips from my mug, scolding my hand and causing me to flinch.

"You okay honey?" Adair asks me, genuine concern in his voice.

I look over to the scarred Victor.

"I'm okay," I tell him. Believing it for about a second. Before I break down into tears. The mug falling from my grip and shattering against the soft carpet of the floor.

"It's going to be okay," Adair tells me, wrapping me in a protective hg I cry into his chest. Ruining the expensive dress shift he is wearing.

I don't believe him.

 **Authors note:**

 **I'm sorry everyone, I really struggled on this chapter so it took longer than usual to put out. Really ready to get into the Games! We are so close now...**

 **PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE keep reviewing! It keeps me wrining and shows me that I'm doing something right.**

 **As always,**

 **may the odds be ever in your favour,**

 **and,**

 **thank you for your sacrifice.**


	28. Disintegration

**Bastion Steele, 19, District 1.**

His Tributes are well prepared and seem to want to spend the time to themselves after dinner. Bastion has become quite attached to Ace, and pride courses through his veins in an unfamiliar way when Ace explains how he hit the apple that Nate had placed onto of a training dummy as a joke.

But despite the calm atmosphere, he was relieved when Ace said he wanted an early nights sleep to prepare for the Private Sessions tomorrow, Weiss followed him quickly off. He expected Armani to leave soon as well but she stayed up for a while, staring at the Capitol programming that came faintly from the television.

Bastion watched it with only had paid attention, his thoughts going back to his room and who was waiting for him there. "You shouldn't get so attached," Bastion is surprised to hear Armani's voice. He thought she had fallen asleep, with half closed eyes.

His heart is heavy, he knows exactly what she is talking about. It was always his fear. "What do you mean?" The question comes out normally but he knows its a lie, so does she. Ace has turned into a friend, only a couple of years younger Bastion can even remember a couple of times they trained together. Before all this.

"Ace, it's pretty clear you care about him. It will only make things worse." Bastion does not want to believe her, Ace is smart and strong enough to come back home. He's good looking enough to get the sponsors that he will need. Already a couple have contacted in interest, not needing the Training Scores to feel he will become Victor.

"He could win," Bastions voice is defensive, Armani gives him a sad look.

"So could Weiss, so could Nate, so could half of them this year. You can't get attached. Her voice is hard, like a callous it has been created from pressure for an extended period of time. The pressure of this.

"It's too late." Bastion tells her, his voice cracking with the reality that he has refused to believe. It's pretty true that the Tributes can only do so much. So much of it the sponsors, the arena, hell even who the Capitol _wants_ to win.

Armani gets up, she walks over to Bastion and places a hand on his shoulder. Rubbing it softly sympathy seems to radiate from her being. "You'll get used to it," she tells him softly. They stay that way for a little white, Bastion staring at the floor.

"Get some sleep," Armani eventually says before taking her hand off of Bastions shoulder. She throws him one more sympathetic look before walking off and into her quarters on the train. Bastion stares at the floor a moment longer before getting up himself. His muscles stiff from sitting hunched over for so long.

Bastion walks back into his room to the alert eyes of the Avox he loves. Kicking the door closed. "I need to know your name," the words fall from his lips before he even realise what he is saying. But its deeply true. Over a year it's been and he's never had the courage to ask. But he needs to know. The need resonates through his body like nothing has before.

She looks surprised at his request, fear lights up her eyes if she does this its like they are taking another step into danger. Their relationship becomes that much more important in a trivial way. In a way, they have been too afraid to cross before. Closing her eyes for a long moment the swirling mass of teal and is green hidden.

She steps closer to him, their body's as so close their breath mingles in the warm train. Her eyes show a mixture of sadness and intensity that Bastion has never seen before. But he knows that his show the same emotions too. He steps closer, their chests touching as he looks down at her face.

 _Coraline_

She mouths the word.

"Coraline," Bastion repeats softly, as if testing out an unfamiliar language. She nods her head, their eyes still locked with the same intensity. Bastion places one of his hands on her cheek, the other twirls her golden hair beneath his fingertips. He places his forehead against hers. Staring into her eyes he feels the most intense emotion he ever has.

Maybe it's just because of the conversation he just had. But something has changed. He has realised how fickle someone else's life is. He has always been able to be in control, fighting for his own life and in charge of the battle. But he can't be now. He is faced with the reality of caring for someone that he can't take the place of. He doesn't know where Coraline goes when he is back at the Districts and that terrifies him.

"I love you," he tells her, a tear drips on her nose.

 _I love you too_ she mouths back. For that moment they are locked in a world of their own. It is like the universe has stopped moving for a moment. Something has been broken, rules and a taboo that have been alive for almost 200 years. They have broke it. Together.

Then the moment stops and her lips raise up to meet his, a new passion can be found there and they are both the most alive they have ever been. There is no fumbling this time, no nerves, their bodies collide and it feels like they never should have been apart. Like they were meant to be. No matter what happens they will share this connection for the rest of their lives, one that makes it all worth it.

 **Ziva Crimson, 27, The Capitol.**

The President has to wait until night falls before she can find the man who will replace Aetius. She knows that her decision is going to be extremely controversial, not at all wise for what she is planning. But a part of her is petty. It wants her old Game Maker to feel jealous and rage about who will be replacing him.

It's a petty thought of revenge. But Aetius has hurt her more than she will admit. Her loyal Game Maker. Her friend. She darts between buildings, hiding in the shadows the Capitol is full of paparazzi and speculation.

She walks under a low hanging archway, something hisses from above the the President jumps in fright. Looking up she sees the amber eyes of a cat glaring at her. She tries to calm the accelerated beat in her chest. Her heart trying to escape her ribcage she hurries along. But that only makes it worse. The shadows seem to be malicious, each turn of her city takes on an unfamiliar edge in the darkness.

She feels cool relief when she ducks inside the towering building in front of her. Security guards line the front desk, their eyebrows raise in recognition of the President. They weren't expecting anyone to come in. She breezes past them, holding up her hand to show she is not here to answer any of their questions she struts with the arrogance that is expected from their President.

Pressing the number _One_ on the elevator it is almost an instantaneous trip. Just enough time to look out at of the glass walls of the elevator and at the multicolored lights of the Capitol. Most of it is hidden though, behind high rise buildings that tower taller than this one.

The elevator lets out a soft noise as she exits, walking to a door that will lead her inside of the first apartment. She takes a deep breath. She is taking the risk of a lifetime. She opens the door soundlessly, walking into an elegant sitting room she notices the designers have done a great job.

She walks over to where an Avox stares wide-eyed at who has entered the room. Standing as straight as humanly possible the boy looks young. The President keeps her voice low, it is important that none of the Tributes see her here. "Which way is it to his room?" She asks, assuming the Avox will know who she is talking about.

He issues for the President to follow him as he walks down a hall, pointing to the first door on the left he bites his lip. "Thank you," he leaves, detecting the finality of her voice he glanced worriedly at the door once more before walking off. The President furrows her brows, wondering what the Avox has to worry about.

Placing a hand on the cool door handle she hopes it has been left unlocked. She does not want to have to get the Avox back for a key and knocking would risk waking others up. She smiles lightly as the door clicks open, causing a crack of light to follow her into the room. Quicky, she closes the door, flicking on the lightswitch she finds in the dark next to her.

Her eyes go wide.

 **Bastion Steele, 19, District 1.**

Bastion pulls a hand over his eyes at the sudden brightness of the room. It can't be morning already, he only just went to sleep. With an arm wrapped around Coraline he felt the most at peace he has since before the Games. It is a frightened gasp from her that causes his body to jolt up like an electric shock.

Immediately he looks over to her, making sure that she is okay he sees no marks on her body. She stares to the doorway and Bastion moves his gaze toward it too, his blood running cold. Someone must've found them. He hopes its Ace. Ace will keep his mouth shut. But to his horror he stares into the eyes of someone completely different. Someone he would never expect. The worst person possible.

He moves his body protectively in front of Coraline's. He won't let the woman hurt her. No matter what.

 **Ziva Crimson, 27, The Capitol.**

The President finds it hard to process the sight in front of her. Surely, surely no Victor would be stupid enough to sleep with an Avox. Her eyes raise further when he moves his body protectively in front of hers, forgetting his nudity she sees the protection that is imbedded into his eyes. No, a Victor would not be stupid enough to just sleep with an Avox, they would have to fall for one.

Taking a deep breath she tries to clear her head. She would never of predicted this. It is unheard of. Silence sees to see from every edge of the room as they stare into each other's eyes, tension mounting. The President sees the girl start to shake of fear. His arm wraps around her protectively, still not leaving her gaze.

"Get dressed."

The simple command causes the two of them to jump and the President averts her gaze as they clumsily grab clothes from around them, ducking under the sheets to dress she takes a moment to compose herself.

When they pop back up from the bed she has a look of determination in her eyes. "Coraline, go outside please. I need to talk to Bastion alone." She stays frozen. "I think your friend is quite afraid for you." she notes, remembering the boys worried glances just before the President entered this room. A glare gets her moving, Bastion grabs her hand as she gets out of the bed, not daring to do anything more extreme their eyes speak for their lips.

When The President hears the door close behind her, signaling Coraline's leave she faces off with Bastion, sporting messy hair and a backward shirt he does not look like the fearsome Victor that exited the arena. She opens her mouth to speak, but he beats her to it.

"How do you know her name?" The question is unexpected, it takes the President aback. She was expecting to be the one asking questions.

"I know all of their names. What they did. Information I'm sure you would be interested in." The President recalls this Avox's backstory, she assigned her here personally, after she heard what the Peacekeepers did when they found her. They were reassigned to worse placements but the Avox would have no way of knowing that.

He keeps his face void of all expression. Seeing as he seems to want to ask the questions the President waits for him to ask another. There is a stony silence. "So, why are you here?" He finally asks, nerves creeping into his voice.

She is on the verge of regretting her decision. "I need you to be the new Head Gamemaker," his mouth drops wide open.

"Why me?'

"Because your someone the Capitol respects. Someone who will make a splash and be worth replacing Aetius, and most importantly someone who cannot be bought off." Bastion nods his head, understanding what the President means. He heard about Aetius's demotion but always assumed it would just go to another Game Maker.

"The senior Game Makers will essentially run the show, you will just have to decide the pace of the Games and what surprises you want." The President makes it sound so matter of fact, but her heart still aches for the new Tributes who will have to die.

"What about my Tribute? Ace." The President feels admiration for Bastion, even now he remembers the boy he has been charged with protecting.

"Another Mentor has already been contacted and is traveling here as we speak. They should arrive before sunrise. Your fellow Mentor, Armani will take over Ace's training and Weiss will receive a new Mentor. One I think she will be very glad to see." The President's eyes sparkle.

"I'll do it. As long as Coraline is safe." The President's eyes narrow, Bastion is not in any place to barter. But the genuine affection in his voice is impossible to miss and the President is reminded of her relationship with Anya.

"That's a deal. In the morning you will be moved into a different accommodation and tomorrow night you have my permission to come to the Mansion to work out the finer details. I think I have a proposition that will make you very happy." Bastion nods at the President's words, his eyes showing his disbelief that the President is being so accommodating.

"You better get some rest. You have the Private Training sessions to judge tomorrow." Bastion looks up in surprise, as if just realising what he has agreed into. The President turns her back on him, walking toward the door she turns the handle.

"Oh, one last thing Bastion," she keeps her back turned to him. "I assume this goes unsaid, but your relationship with Ace cannot affect the outcome of the Games." With that she exits the room, not bothering to look at the Victor again.

Going back into the sitting room she spots Coraline nervously pacing. She freezes like a deer in headlights when she sees the President. She calls her over. "I'm going to turn a blind eye to this as long as you do me one thing," she tells the girl who just stares.

"Tell Bastion the truth. Why you're here. He needs to know." Pain crosses Coraline's face at the President's words but she just nods her head. "He loved you, its clear to see, it will be okay." The President tells her sympathetically before leaving the room. Her head spinning from everything that has happened and wishing for a simpler life.

 **Aetius Valter, 54, The Capitol.**

A knocking at his door causes Aetius to crack his knuckles, getting up from his hunched position on a velvet couch he opens his door. Revealing the smiling face of Drusus Lionella. He offers a hand to the other man and Aetius takes it. A single camera man follows them in, an Avox like Aetius requested.

"Follow me," Aetius tells the men, walking them through the house designed for more than one he takes them into his study. The crimson letter opener still lies at the center of his desk. Two chairs have been positioned in front of it and Aetius sits at one, Drusus copies his position and sits facing him.

"Action" Aetius is the one to call the signal and soon there is a red flashing light on top of the camera. The Avox gives them a thumbs up.

Drusus clears his throat, turning toward the camera. "Welcome everybody to our very special interview! Tonight we are joined by Aetius Valter, our ex- Head Gamemaker. There is a slight whirring noise as the camera pans out to include Aetius in the shot.

"Now let's cut right to the chase, Aetius, there has been a lot of speculation about what happened to cause your demotion. Can you shed some light on the issue?"

Aetius clears his throat, a deep sound. "I sure can," his voice is silty smooth and captivates attention. "I was demoted because I released the footage of the Tribute from District 2's goodbye footage."

Drusus looks surprised. "But that footage was such a hit! We all assumed it was just being saved for some extra hype around the Private Sessions tomorrow. Why didn't she want it released?"

Aetius leans back in his chair. "Your guess is as good as mine," he says simply, "I'm telling you she is too soft on the Tributes. Always has been. It's because of her you can no longer _spend time_ with the Victors. She had to stop that. Like everything."

"These are some serious allegations" Drusus states, tapping his fingers on the desk slightly nervously. He is not used to anyone talking badly about the President.

"You want allegations?" Aetius booms, breaking out into a laugh that causes the Avox to jump. "I'll give you allegations." He hunts on the desk behind him, looking for a specific letter. He grunts in triumph when he finds it. "Take a look at this," he tells Drusus, passing the letter over.

The camera zooms into the letter as Drusus eyebrows raise peculiarly high. "Are you meaning to say?" He can't even finish his question, his voice cutting off at the enormity that he is facing.

"That these Tributes reapings were rigged? Completely." His voice causes a stony silence, sweat breaks out across Drusus's forehead, partially in excitement, partially in nervousness. "That's right! The Games are rigged!" Aetius repeats, shaking an imposing fist at the camera.

"But that's not the half of it," Aetius whispers, his voice dropping so low it's barely audible.

"What else could there be?" Drusus voice is filled with wonder. This was not what he was expecting from this interview.

"Only that the President is a _queer_." He spits out the last word like venom and Drusus looks even more shocked.

"How do you know?"

"Her _friend_ Anya. I went over to talk to her about the Games one afternoon and she had lipstick marks all over her neck." Only a slight exaggeration Aetius thinks, in truth he only saw one, but it may of well as been a hundred.

"Well that certainly is a lot to take in," Drusus says uneasily, being homosexual is not accepted in the Capitol. Its barely talked about, kept in hushed silence the Districts will get away with it if a gay Tribute is reaped. But that's mostly because the Capitol will soon see them die. He has never heard of an openly gay Tribute making it out of the arena, at least if they were out before going in.

The two men sit in a silence weighted down by all that has been discussed before Aetius lunges suddenly to his desk, picking up a crimson letter opener in the shape of a curved sword he hurls it toward the camera. Shattering the lens. "And she can fucking have that back!" Aetius yells in a burst of anger.

The Avox looks extremely uncomfortable as he stops recording. Checking that the lens is the only thing that has been damaged. Drusus looks uncomfortable as he looks over at Aetius. "Thank you for the interview. It will air straight after the Tribute Scores tomorrow evening." Aetius just nods, staring intensely at a spot on the floor in front of him.

"Just between you and me, who do you think is going to be the new Head Gamemaker?" He asks, his voice soft. Aetius blinks slowly, his green eyes meeting the other man with an intensity not usually seen in the Capitol. It causes Drusus to take a step back.

"I don't know. Probably one of my seconds. Maverick or Pax." Drusus nods. Thanking him again for the interview he makes his own way out of the front door leaving Aetius to stare at the floor in silence.

This will destroy her.


	29. Forging alliances (TRAINING DAY 3)

**Weiss Forge 18, District 1.**

I am woken by a slight shaking to my shoulder. Groaning, I roll over, trying to busy myself under the velvet blankets of the Capitol I moan for _just a moment longer._ I don't know what Armani is playing at. For the past couple of days, she had just knocked on my door calling me to breakfast. "Let me sleep," I mumble, if she's not being professional this morning neither will I.

"Get up." The voice, its masculine. It tickles the edge of my sleepy mind. Surely I am still asleep. There is no way I can be hearing that voice. That voice is from home. Another nudge, this time to my foot and it causes a slight tickle. I roll over. Looking up I squint my eyes at the brightness of the room, my curtains have been opened and the sunrise illuminates the luxury around me.

But I'm not interested in that. Instead, my heartbeat accelerates as I stare back at an almost identical pair of eyes. "Dad!" I rush over, wrapping my arms around him I pull him back onto the bed with me. He laughs, his body tumbling on top of mine he hugs me back.

"What are you doing here?" My voice squeaks in surprise. I didn't expect to see him until the Victory tour. I look over at him, his eyes have a tiredness to them that I have not seen in a while and dark stubble covers his cheeks. My brows furrow.

He looks back at me, a small smile is on his lips that does not reach his eyes. "I'm here to mentor you," he tells me, nudging my shoulder. My heart leaps at the prospect that I never thought would be a possibility. He has told me as much for as long as I can remember. Remember.

What's happened to Armani? I ask my dad and he smiles. "She's fine, she took over Ace's training so I'm able to be here for you." I smile, impossibly grateful that this has happened. My father has always been strict, sometimes harsh. But he knows me.

"Is Bastion okay?" My question causes my father to erupt into a laugh, I laugh in confusion as my father seems to be hysterical. I have never seen him like this before. His face goes red as he continues laughing and he wipes a tear out of his eyes. My brows furrow again and I feel a crease in between my eyebrows.

"Bastions better than okay." He manages to sputter out. A laugh still creeping into his voice. "Bastion has been promoted to Head Gamemaker."

"What?"

 **Nathaniel Mattingly 18, District 2.**

I wake too early, the sun hasn't even graced the sky with its presence. Instead, darkness seeps in around the corners of my curtains, as if threatening to spill into the dim light that emits from the lamp beside my bed. That's okay, I'm not afraid of the dark.

Stretching out, I don't bother getting dressed. I always sleep in a shirt anyways. No one else is going to be awake at this hour so I feel comfortable leaving my room, I walk down the plush hallway not thinking about much. Today will be the last morning of training before the private sessions. I can't wait to show off.

Rounding the corner to the living room I am surprised to see a figure sitting on one of the coaches. In the dim light, I can see its Cassia. She wears long briefs that have a pattern that shows constellations and a loose fitting sleeveless shirt hangs down to below her hips. Her forehead looks coated in sweat and I can see patches of it on the shirt.

She stares in front of her, at nothing in particular. Her arms wrapped around her legs, goosebumps coat her skin like a blanket. Waking over her I make my footfalls soft, it's not hard against the shaggy carpet and she only seems to register that I am there once I sit next to her. She looks over, startled by my appearance.

"I hated him," she informs me, her eyes looking distant. I stay silent, wondering what she is talking about. "My brother," it's like she can read my thoughts. "I hated what he made me do, the marks that he caused on me," she runs her fingers absentmindedly down her back. "I hated him but I never wanted him dead. He was family."

She looks at me, an intensity in her blue rimmed gaze that is unnatural. "You don't blame me, do you? It's not my fault he's dead. He chose to do that. Knowing that they would catch him."

It clicks.

She hasn't talked about her family since the train. But the tape of her goodbye was released yesterday. It must have set her off again. "I never wanted him dead," she repeats, her voice cracking. Tears dance the corner of her eyes and one drips down. She seems not to notice. "He was all I had since Orion changed. My parents just wanted this life for me. To live out the dreams that they couldn't." She laughs.

"Both of them were second in their years at the Academy. My brother didn't bother to train hard. They turned a blind eye to what my brother did. Thought it kept me ready to volunteer and get away." Another tear falls, this one tracing a line down the creases of her nose, and balancing on the tip of her lip.

"They got a message in. I don't know how. Our escort delivered it." She passes me a piece of paper, it only has a few words scrawled haphazardly over it. As if the writer was in a rush. _You killed your brother. Don't bother coming home. - Mum and Dad._

"They blame me. He wanted me to do one last _favor_ the morning of the reaping. But I couldn't do it. I hid. Then my brother had to punish me. That's what happened at my goodbye." Her voice goes distant again. Two more tears fall, one either side.

"It's not your fault," she looks up in surprise as if forgetting that I was sitting next to her. "He was abusive and wrong, it's not your fault, he doesn't deserve to know you, none of them do." I take her hands in mine, they are ice cold. I move my palms up and down, trying to massage some warmth into their coolness.

"Why were you covered in blood at the reaping?" I am taken aback by the rapid change of subject. I can't tell her now.

"I'll tell you another time," I say as I wipe the tears from her cheeks.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

 **Talia Lancaster, 15, District 3.**

I sit next to Callum on the floor of the dining room. It's nice and cool against the dark wood. Neither of us could sleep easy last night. Not with the pressure of what is going to happen today. The Private Sessions. I don't know what I am going to do for them. How I will entertain the Gamemakers.

"What are you thinking about?" I ask Callum, his nose is scrunched up in the way he does when he's thinking about something serious.

"How to get you home," he tells me honestly, placing one of his huge hands in mine I feel the warmth of his skin as he squeezes tight. An awkward silence descends over us. One that will never dissipate.

"Your portrait will be the first one that I paint," I tell him. My voice cracking. He looks back at me, his eyes full of warmth.

"I'd like that," he tells me.

"I wish we could both go home," I mumble. Pulling myself into his chest he lets me put my weight on his lean frame.

"I do too, but we both know that that's not possible." I look up at him, and the sympathy clearly shown on his face. Damn the Capitol. Damn it to hell for doing this to us.

"Why did you really volunteer? Not just the _for my family_ answer. That's not good enough." I've been chewing on this question for the past little while, I can't figure out an answer large enough to sacrifice his life for.

Callum looks back at me, his hair falling into his eyes he takes a deep breath. It leaves his lips shakily. "There's not much left for me, my mother and Wren gone. But you have so many more people, so much more family that loves you. I'm not prepared to let you leave that." He looks down at me, his eyes burning from beneath dirty blond hair.

"Thank you," I tell him, wrapping my arms around him. We sit on the floor in silence, listening to the hustle and bustle of the streets outside as they wake with the morning. Nerves bubble in anticipation for what is going to happen today. But they are swept away by the admiration for Callum and what he is choosing to give up.

 **Carolyn Aquana, 17, District 4.**

"How are you feeling?" My mentor, Alice asks me. I woke early, like usual, and decided to get a head start on breakfast. I was hoping that I could avoid Blake, he's become more bearable since he picked up Esme. But not enough to be around for long.

"Confident," I reply. Taking a bite of the sweet bread that I have placed on my plate. Alice smiles back at me, taking a bite of her own food we chew in a comfortable silence. "How are you feeling about the other Tributes?" She asks, a slight sparkle in her eye.

I stare back at her, "some seem alright," I tell her vaguely. Not wanting to tell her about I truly feel, I need to work alongside them no matter what personal opinions that I have. There's no point vocalizing unproductive thoughts.

"Come with me," she tells me, getting up from the table. Shoving the last bite of pastry into my mouth I wipe sticky lips with the back of my hand as I follow her out of the dining room. She takes me into a room I have not seen before.

It looks like a studio, musical instruments lay scattered and a microphone sits on a stand in the center of the room, it's much more elegant than the ones they use at the reapings, its plugged into a large console. "My talent is music," Alice explains and the world makes sense again.

She picks up a guitar, strumming a tune quietly she stares down at her fingers. I sit on top of a table against the back wall as I listen to the tune. It's hard to pick up, so soft I have to strain my one good ear to try and catch it. Like the wind it cannot quite be caught, only felt for a moment.

"I understand that you don't want to be completely honest with me, but you need to be." She tells me, her voice as soft, almost humming the melody of the song that she is strumming. "They won't come in here. Marvolo knows to knock."

I just stare ahead.

"Look, I've seen how you look around Blake. We all know only one tribute can come home." Her voice is plain, without malice but without any emotion. I look at her in surprise, Alice has always seemed like the kind one. Then again no one can be that kind if they have won the Games.

"Won't Marvolo have something to say about that?" I ask her, jumping to conclusions that have only been loosely traced out. Like a line on the sand, they could be washed out at any moment, but they have a mark while they still exist.

"We've had some chats since arriving here. The Victor often has something to do with the appetite of the Capitol too, most have an inherent dislike for Blake at this stage." I laugh, a sound that is not heard often at all.

"Would I have to stay with the Careers the whole Games?" Alice's eyebrows rise in surprise at my question. My mind drifts, to a dangerous possibility, yet one that makes my heart race more than my boy back home ever could.

Alice and I hatch out a plan, a dangerous one at that. But what inside of the arena is not dangerous? At least this one gets me away from the Careers before they have the chance to turn on me, the only choice will be whether I decide to leave peacefully or turn on them first.

 **Oliver Apollo, 17, District 5.**

I make quiet conversation with Caroline over breakfast, she seems nice enough. Be it a bit distracted, but that's not surprising for someone in our position. Yesterday she barely touched her breakfast, today she wolfs it down like it is her last meal on earth. I think Kalisa had the right idea about uniting us.

"Can we talk?" She asks me after we have both finished eating, I look at the clock. It is only a few minutes before we will have to go down to the training center.

"Sure," I tell her, my chair legs grate against the floor as I get up from the table. I smile at an Avox as she takes the plate that I have finished with. She looks coolly back, as if not noticing my presence. I am still not used to their silent stance. I had never seen an Avox before coming here, but I had almost made myself okay with becoming one. Ever since the girl on the train. I wonder if she is here now, waiting on another tribute.

I follow Caroline back down the hallway of the apartment, she leads me into her bedroom. It's almost identical to mine. Except while mine is decorated in dark black and gleaming whites hers is decorated in pale blue with green flecks. "What's up?" I ask her, surprised by the sudden interest in talking that she has.

"I need to tell you something, but you have to promise that it won't affect the alliance." My eyebrows shoot up, wondering what secrets she could be hiding. Thinking back to her reaping I wonder if it has anything to do with her best friend. Or the husband.

"It won't," I tell her, I always keep my word, no matter what.

She takes a deep breath, I can tell the confession is on the tip of her tongue. Then she closes her mouth, opening it again after a moment, in a completely different manner. "Can you tell me about Dwayne?"

I am taken aback, "how do you know about him?" I ask, a pain stabbing my heart at the mention. He didn't come to the goodbyes.

"That doesn't matter, just humor me." She tells me, a sparkle in her eyes like nothing I've seen before. She probably saw us at some point around the District, or maybe one of our mentors did. The secret doesn't matter anymore I guess.

"He's just too old to get reaped. He's tall. He's blond. He's my rock. He's always had my back. I love him." The words fall from my lips, each having more emotion than the last. She nods. I almost forgot that Caroline was sitting across from me.

"Imagine having that love with two people and not even realizing it. When you do it's too late." Her voice wobbles. "Imagine making the biggest mistake of your life."

 **Jerry Kapper, 15, District 6.**

"I found some Allies," I tell Adam proudly as we eat breakfast together. Milk dribbles down my chin as I speak, I wipe it with the grey sleeve of the shirt that I am wearing for training today, it's an active material, but the sleeves go to my wrists and make me feel like I am getting a hug constantly. It's a nice feeling.

"You have?" Adam asks, raising one eyebrow.

I wish I could do that. I try to imitate him and he just laughs, taking a large bite of some kind of meat he chews then asks, "have you got them to agree to an alliance?" He stares at me as he waits for a reply, I feel my cheeks redden.

"Not yet, but that's what today's for," I tell him proudly.

"Aren't you cutting it a bit last minute for that?" A feminine voice asks. My heart freezes in shock as I look up and see that Esme has rounded the corner and into the dining room.

I get up immediately. Heading for the elevator I know that I will be too early for training, but I don't mind. It's better than staying here.

"Jerry wait! I nee-" I hear her voice call out but it is cut off by the closing of the elevator door. Tears sting my eyes in betrayal and I take deep breaths, trying to clear the panic that has risen suddenly in my throat.

I can't be around her. The way she betrayed me for the Careers. The elevator seems too small and I pace around the small room, it seems like an impossibly long time before I am let out and rush out when it opens. Tripping over my own feet I sprawl on the polished floor. Panic rising in my throat.

"Are you okay?" Someone asks, and I look up into her eyes.

 **Willow Ashes, 16, District 7.**

I look down in surprise at the boy who has fallen at my feet. It's the boy from District 6, I offer him a hand up and he takes it gratefully before he scampers off, not making eye contact. Nirvana snorts at him.

"You're acting like you weren't that young and awkward at one point," I tell him, staring at his muscular build. My head reaches his chest.

"My uncle trained me to be the opposite of him. Arrogance attracts sponsors." He replies, throwing me a wink he takes a step closer. I laugh at him.

"I think you're uncles got it wrong. You won't appeal to the Capitol if you're overly arrogant." I reply, my words become jumbled up and sounding lamer than I intended. He narrows his eyes, taking a step closer to me.

"Oh, maybe we will have to try another angle?" His voice is barely a whisper as he places an arm around my back, his hand rests slightly lower than my waist as he pulls me toward him. Butterflies explode in my chest and cause my heart to beat faster than when my name was called out at the reaping. Something I thought was impossible.

"And what would that be?" I reply, my head tilted upward I speak toward his lips. His body seems to burn beneath mine and I wonder how he hasn't burst into flames. He stares down at me, our breaths merging in the proximity of our body's.

"We will just have to wait and see," he says suddenly, taking his hand off my body he steps out from the proximity in a simple step. Leaving me shocked at the coolness that suddenly surrounds me. He smirks at my face which reads as disappointed.

I look away from him, my cheeks blushing from the embarrassment and disappointment. I am a mess as I stare at the floor. I feel oddly cool without his embrace that only lasted a moment, but those few seconds felt so right and so warm.

I don't know what he wants from me.

But I think he is going to get it.

 **Weft Loomis, 15, District 8.**

When I get down to the training center my embarrassment from my fall has still not worn off, two days later. I stare everywhere but at the other Tributes as the head trainer does their talk and wander off toward the snare station for my last morning of training.

I get started on a complex one that connects multiple ropes to each other, as much of a warning sign as a snare it will alert me if others are in my area. Just as I am finishing the first knot, my shoulder still sore from my fall, I jump as I feel a tap on my back.

The boy my age from District 6 stands behind me. "What do you want?" I ask him, slightly on the defensive. I don't know how long he has been staring at me for. This snare was supposed to be my secret weapon.

"Do you want to allies?" He asks, his eyes bright.

It takes a moment to process what he is asking. We have never even talked before now. Well, apart from maybe the occasional word when we both happened to be at the same station. "Why would you want to ally with me?" I blurt out.

He looks back at me in confusion, "why wouldn't I?"

"Well, I, uh fell," I splutter back, my cheeks turning red. I should not have brought it up. But he surprises me, pulling up a sleeve of his shirt he shows a long red welt.

"I did that at the sword fighting station, the trainer expected me to be faster," he explains, tugging on the hair on the back of his neck.

I stare at the boy, maybe we could be friends in another life. Maybe we could be in this one. His nervous habit reminds me of one my best friend used to have. Weaver. I miss him.

"Let's be allies," I tell him, sticking out my hand.

He takes mine in his and after an awkward shake, the deal is made. "Follow me then," he says, practically bouncing up and down from joy he speeds across the center. I have to rush to catch up to his boisterous step.

"Where are we going? I ask, he is leading us toward the edible plant's station.

"To find a new friend." I look over to who is at the station and stop in my tracks.

"You want him?" I ask, shock in my voice.

"What's wrong with him?" The boy replies, his voice defensive. "He's the same age as us," I feel my eyebrows crinkle.

"He is?" Something about that boy makes him seem a lot older.

"Come on,"

 **Cole Rockweld, 15, District 9.**

Footsteps squeak on the polished floor. I don't pay any mind to them, focusing on what the trainer is explaining to me about deadly plants. I decided to save this station for last, but now I regret it, this is something I really need to keep coming back to.

Someone clears their throat behind me, I turn curiously. The trainer quiets, understanding that I won't be able to listen. Behind me, two boys stand. Weft and Jerry, I recognize them from around. I think I've had a couple of conversations with Jerry, and Weft is the one I saw fall from the rope before getting my bulls-eye.

"Whats up?" I ask them, wondering what the boys my own age could want.

"Come ally with us," the taller one, Jerry says. My eyebrows raise. I never thought I would go into these Games with allies. My heart beats loud in my ears, this could give me a real chance. A chance to go back home to Barrick.

"This us?" I ask, Jerry takes a beat to understand what I'm saying and Weft looks over at him in confusion. He doesn't know either.

"Three more," he replies confidently. I burst into laughter.

"You're making a pack to rival the Careers?"

"That's the plan," he flashes me a cheeky grin.

"How do you know that you're not going to turn on me in my sleep?" I ask, trying to convey a mix of teasing and seriousness in my voice.

"You can have first watch if you're so concerned," Jerry teases back.

"Only if you take it with me,"

"Deal." Jerry holds out his hand and I take it in a firm grasp.

"Right then, who else are we recruiting?" Weft asks, smiling at the exchange.

"Follow me," Jerry says, winking at Weft. Weft rolls his eyes as he follows, I say goodbye to the trainer before following them as well. Hope making my steps feel lighter than air.

 **Eva Brath, 14, District 10.**

Trav has been helping me out with some basic hand to hand combat. They are very fast, even faster than me and is almost impossible to pin down. I smile over at them as we take a quick break, sweat shimmering on both of our faces we share a small smile. I've been feeling better since I've got to know Trav over the past few days, they have given me a friend.

"Ready to go again?" They ask, practically bouncing up and down in excitement. They've finally found something they are good at and I smile in support.

"Just let me have a little more water. You're so fast," I reply, my voice showing a hint of jealousy.

"Yeah, well you've been the one acing the edible plant station. It's that knowledge that is going to keep us alive," Trav replies, flashing me a toothy grin. Warmth flows through me at the compliment and causes me to have a boost of adrenaline.

"Alright, I'm ready to go again," I reply. The trainers will let us do a little wrestling together, kitted up with padding and head protection over top of mats. It's almost comical how much protection they are requiring us to have when soon we will have to kill each other.

We square off, the trainers looking on as one of them starts to count down. I heard the two trainers whispering to each other, apparently, we are pretty even matched. But Trav has a lot more confidence.

"Wait!" A voice calls as the trainer finishes counting. We freeze, looking at each other. It was not one of the trainers that told us to stop. Looking out of the ring there are three boys standing there around my age.

I raise my eyebrows at Trav in surprise and he raises his back. Taking off his head guard I follow his lead as we leave the mats to talk to the boys. Apprehension makes my handshake.

"What do you want?" Trav asks, sounding standoffish.

A boy with bleach blonde hair addresses us. I think it is his district partner that has joined the Careers. I bet he's feeling mad about missing the invite. "Come to join our alliance," he tells us, offering a dazzling smile.

I look over at Trav and they usher for me to come closer. "What do you think?" They whisper into my ear.

"We need all the help we can get against the Careers. And there's the two of us so we can look out for each other. I'm in." I reply, I see them become lost in thought for a moment before looking back towards the group of boys.

"We're in," Trav tells them.

 **Harvest Kohl, 15, District 11.**

Poppy and I are exhausted. We spent all of the morning working rapidly over the weapons stations, trying to pick up any last minute knowledge we could my brain is overly full and my shirt has dark pit stains from my sweat.

Poppy leans against me as we sit on the edge of a station, it was for camouflage, but at this point, all of the pots have been used up and no one has been bothered to replace them. They will bring out fresh liquid and twigs for the Private Sessions.

Popp shifts her weight, leaning onto my back I feel my heart flutter the slightest bit. I've been trying to get my emotions under control since we both got reaped, no point in loving her, it will only make all of this harder. But when I look over at her cute freckles and the way her eyelashes seem to shimmer in the light it's hard.

I wish I told her how I felt. Before all this. Now it's too late, a secret that I will have to take to the grave. "I'm sorry," I mumble my thoughts out loud.

"What was that?" Poppy asks me, fluttering her eyes open I look down into her sparkling brown eyes. Some people find brown eyes boring, not hers. They are like endless pits, swirling masses of hazel and darker colors they are something I will never be able to express.

"Sorry for being sweaty," I say, it's lame, but its better than what I was thinking." She laughs it off. Her laugh is like a breath of fresh air in this suffocating world.

"You're always sweaty," she teases, jabbing me lightly in the ribs. "It's just one of the things I love about you." He words cause more intense butterflies, this time they are jumping around.

"I wish you didn't have to be here," I tell her, something moist drips down my cheek and lands in her hair.

"I wish you didn't," she replies, taking one of her hands in mine.

We sit that way for a while, with her hand in mine. Until the buzzer goes off signaling that it has become lunchtime. My chest spasms as I realize it is time for the Private Sessions.

 **Flint Fraser, 13 District 12.**

I sit by myself at a bench, shoveling food into my mouth it is more out of nerves about what is going to happen. Like the ultimate school test, the Private Sessions will decide on how much attention is on us from the sponsors. And we all need sponsors.

Adair thinks that I can get sponsors. I'm cute. But I need to show that I'm not incapable. Or maybe I should just go for it and play the helpless and cute angle. I don't know. I don't want to draw the attention of the other Tributes before the Games begin. I wish I could talk to Adair about it before the sessions. He just wished me luck this morning. I should have asked.

"Hey, glasses!" The shout in my direction causes me to jump, some pasta sauce splatters onto my yellow shirt in the movement and I stare sadly at the stain. That won't make a good impression.

I look over to who yelled at me and see Jerry, the boy from District 6. I've talked to him a few times over the past few days, he seems nice. I wanted to ally with him like Adair said but haven't found the time to talk to him yet. My heart leaps. This could be my chance.

"What?" I mumble back, my voice shaking with nerves. I need to get up the courage to ask him, but my hands start to tremble. What if he rejects the invite, then I truly will be alone.

"Want to ally?" He asks. It takes me a moment to process what he has said when I do I break out into a huge grin.

"With you?" I ask, my voice shaking with excitement.

"And all them," he says, issuing over his shoulder to where a group of Tributes sits. The boy from District 8, the two from District 10, the boy from District 9. With me, we will be six. That's the same number as the Careers.

I know what Adair would want me to do.

"I'm in," I reply, jumping out of my seat in excitement.

He sticks a hand out to be shaken but I go in for the hug, he laughs as we hug briefly. It feels awkward, but I crave the moment of intimacy. It reminds me of the hugs I used to share with my sister, I wish her more with every passing day.

"Come meet everybody," the boy tells me, leading me back to the table.

 **Authors note: I promise the Games are going to be picking up now! I'm sorry for the delay in writing, I'm going through exams right now so am feeling pretty burnt out all around.**

 **They are almost over though and the Games are about to begin so be prepared!**

 **Please please please review, its what keeps me motivated!**

 **As always, may the odds be ever in your favour,**

 **and,**

 **thank you for your sacrifice.**


	30. Unexplained Delight (PRIVATE SESSIONS)

**Bastion Steele, 19, District 1.**

No one has seemed to know what to do with Bastion. He was fitted with his Head Gamemaker uniform this morning, slight makeup plastered on his face. One of Aetius's old assistants has been showing him around all morning.

Sitting on a plush chair he has an office that overlooks the rest of his team. He feels awkward up here, his Game was only the year before and he can see all too clearly how the process was the same for it. He takes a moment to stare down at the team, some of them took kindly to his presence. He has found a friend in a man called Pax. As skinny as a twig he has a silver beard and eyes as pale blue as ice.

Others, like another man called Maverick, have shunned Bastion. Burying themselves in their work it is a clear sign they don't think they need him. Pax comforted him at their harsh greetings, no one thought Aetius would be leaving.

Pax comes to his door now, knocking lightly Bastion lets him in with a simple gesture. "It's time," Pax tells him. Bastion nods, sighing loudly adrenaline pumps through his veins. He never dreamed that he would see the view he is about to.

He remembers this time last year, how nervous he was despite all of his Training. He scored a 10. He wonders how the Tributes of these Games will fare today. He now has the power over them, yes he will talk with the other Gamemakers about what they think. But ultimately he will be the one to confirm the numbers.

The power rushes to his head, causing a numbing feeling to accompany the dizziness he has felt since walking into this place this morning. He does not belong here. But as he leaves his office he spots another one that does not belong. She stands to the side, her long hair falling down her back in waves and a hard expression on her face.

"President Crimson, what are you doing here?" He asks formally, taken aback by her presence.

"I came to oversee this personally," she tells him. No note of familiarity in her voice. He nods simply in reply. Following Pax, down a long corridor, the President falls in step beside him. He feels his heartbeat quicken.

A door is opened and below them, the Training Center can be seen. Bastion takes a seat on the front row, The President sits next to him. Offering a small smile when she knows that no one else is looking. Bastion nods briefly back, the butterflies gnawing at his stomach. He is passed a notebook from one of the other Gamemakers and one is handed to the President too.

There are 24 pages in the notebook. Each set out identically with space underneath to write notes. The only differences on the pages are the names, ages, and Districts of each Tribute. Bastion feels sick when he realizes that the first one to come in will be Ace.

"Are you ready for the first Tribute, sir?" Pax asks him.

Bastion takes a deep breath, shaking out his limbs.

"Ready."

 **Ace Platinum, 18, District 1.**

Bastion watches as Ace comes out confidently. Walking powerfully he heads straight towards the weapons section. Picking up a spear he hurls it directly towards one of the training mannequins, his spear hits it directly in its left eye. Another spear is sent hurling, this time stabbing out the mannequins right.

Next, he picks up a knife. It hits the mannequin directly in its heart. Two more knives flow consecutively, each embedding themselves into the left and right lung respectively. One more knife is thrown, this time it is larger, closer to a dagger it hits directly into the mannequins kidney. Cold strength seems to radiate off of Ace as he stares with intensity, his muscles bulging.

He moves over stations, picking up an awl, he throws it so hard it embeds itself into up to the handle into the forehead of the mannequin. The realistic mannequin now looks grotesque, with more weapons than artificial flesh. It's not quite the right shade of blood slowly trickles from the corners of the wounds.

But Ace is not done. He picks up a sword for his final show, attacking a different mannequin he slices limbs and chunks off of it. Carving the realistic flesh like butter he shows off the strength not even Bastion realized that he possessed. Cutting through the bone of the mannequin with only a couple of grunts.

When he finishes, he is coated in artificial blood. It gleams in the harsh white lights as he looks up at the legion of Gamemakers that sit above him. Bastion takes a deep breath, the boy's brutal power has reminded him of himself.

"Thank you, you are dismissed." Bastion tells him.

Ace nods, walking towards the elevator he is now able to go back to his mentors. Bastion feels a pang. He should be there for Ace. Not Armani. But Bastion knows that his job here is more important than Ace, he needs to put his feelings to the side. The President sitting directly next to him only reinforces that idea.

He scribbles notes down on his paper, using words like strong, intimidating and deadly. After a couple of minutes of scribbling, he calls out for the next Tribute. Avox's have already cleaned up what Ace has done. The anticipation that can be felt in the air is almost electric.

 **Weiss Forge, 18, District 1.**

Bastion watches as Weiss comes out from noiseless doors. Whenever he looks at her all he can see is her father's eyes. The man that mentored him out of his Games. He watches as Weiss goes to the same station as Ace, with deadly precision she surveys the weapons in front of her. Licking her lips.

She picks up an axe and some eyebrows raise around Bastion. It is uncommon for Careers to use axes, generally leaving them for the outlying Districts. But Weiss puts her's to good use. Throwing three axes within seconds of each other they hit three different mannequins almost simultaneously. Embedding themselves stiffly into the mannequins heads fake blood spurts out.

Moving on she grabs a couple of smaller swords, they gleam silver in the light as she takes on two mannequins at once. Moving her body in gymnastic-like moves she twirls and tumbles, moving in the blink of an eye she is merely a blur. When she is done the mannequins have been drained of their fake blood, yet none of it is on Weiss.

She flashes a seductive smile at the Gamemakers and Bastion hears a pen fall out of the hands of one. It hits the floor with a dull thud and I see a glimmer in Weiss's eye that shows she noticed. I don't know how, but she did.

She takes off, sprinting around the room she hurls herself on top of obstacles and crawls under others, showing off impressive speed nothing gets in her way. One moment she has climbed up one of the thick ropes, the next she is balancing on top of one of the rafting beams, the next she has scurried her way up the rock wall. She keeps the attention of the Gamemakers in an almost supernatural way. All eyes glued on her.

When she is finally done, she stands back again below the Gamemakers. Panting. But with a huge smile planted on her face.

Bastion dismisses her swiftly, he can hear the rapid writing on the pieces of paper around him and he smiles as he writes down words on his own paper. Alluring, swift and captivating are only a small glimpse at the words he writes.

When the pens have quieted around him he calls for the next Tribute, he feels relief. He has gotten through those he has a personal connection to. Now it will be full of surprises. Bastions stomach squirms as he watches a huge boy walk out.

 **Nathaniel Mattingly 18, District 2.**

The first thing Bastion notices about this boy are his sheer size as he walks out. He must be at least a head taller than Ace, with muscles larger than any of those Bastion has seen before on boys the Tributes age. The Tribute, Nathaniel glances up at the Gamemakers before dropping his gaze.

He glares at the floor as he squares off with a mannequin. There is a collective intake of breath at what this boy is going to do. But after a quick glance, he moves away from it, calling out a trainer he steps into the wrestling ring. Tapping his foot impatiently he shoves on head protection and a mouth guard.

To Bastions surprise Nathaniel is facing off against Vladilen, the head trainer. They are around the same size and Bastion sits on the edge of his chair, sweat breaking out in anticipation for what is going to happen between the two of them. A signal is let off for the match to start and Nathaniel wastes no time.

He charges forward, wrapping his arms around Vladilen he sends the older man catering for the floor. Vladilen tries to twist away in midair, but Nathaniel stops him. Using his forearm he hits Vladilen straight in the chest, it causes the older man to let out a gasp for air as he hits the floor of the mat. Nathaniel wastes no time, wrapping his body around Vladilen he sends the man into a painful body lock.

And just like that, the fight is over. Vladilen tapping out, still gasping for air as Nathaniel spits his mouth guard out onto the floor of the ring. Shoving his headpiece off he has walked back to the weapons station before Vladilen has even gotten up.

"Vladilen has never been beaten before," Pax whispers into Bastions ear, shock evident in his voice. But Bastion barely hears him, instead, he is fixated on what Nathaniel has started to do. He has gotten a knife as long as his forearm with a serrated edge and has started to carve his name into the mannequins.

Blood runs from the wounds he makes on their artificial flesh Nate, Nate, Nate the name is carved over and over, sometimes multiple times on each mannequin. There is a silence like Bastion has never heard before as they watch the sheer bloodlust of this Tribute.

Bastion realizes he is not going to stop anytime soon and dismisses Nathaniel once the timer runs out. He nods cooley to the Gamemakers before leaving, his shirt soaked and face in blood.

Bloodthirsty, terrifying and unstable are the words Bastion writes on his paper for this Tribute. There is a stony silence surrounding them. No one seems to know what to think. Something vibrates in Pax's pocket and he looks at an artificial screen. "Vladilen has broken ribs," he informs the group. They break out in shocked chatter, writing more words on their paper.

Bastion just calls the next Tribute in.

 **Cassia Slander, 16, District 2.**

It was her that was the downfall of Aetius. Though it was not her fault. It's hard to tell if she notices the stony expressions on the Gamemakers faces from her District Partners performance. If she does, she doesn't show it. Marching toward the knot tying station she has a look like Bastion has not seen in any Tribute before the arena on her face. It scares Bastion.

She grabs a thick back rope and places it in the center of the room. She then travels to the weapons station, grabbing a large crossbow she knots an arrow into it, ready to shoot. She picks up a variety of other weapons, regular bows, axes, knives, swords, spears and carries them on several trips toward the center of the room. Where the rope is waiting.

After she has taken a few arms full of weapons she places them in a circle, it is wide enough for a body to fit on the inside. She walks calmly over to the camouflage station, picking up a blood read juice she splatters it around the circle of weapons on the floor before she writes something in bold letters facing the Gamemakers.

She carefully hides what the letters spell out, turning her back to the Gamemakers she fidgets with the rope in her hands. Its impossible to see what she is doing. Time ticks down and Bastion feels his heart thumping in his chest. He doesn't know what she's doing.

The other Gamemakers break out into faint whispers as the time ticks down. But Bastion just stares intently at the girls back. She finally finishes, turning her body toward the Gamemakers, she sits in a kneeling position. There is a moment of intense silence before pandemonium breaks loose.

Murder me just like my brother, the letters spell out. She stares at the roof, her hands bound in front of her just like her brothers were at his execution. The weapons around her glimmer with the red juice and under the light. The Gamemakers are yelling at each other, no voices can be distinguished in the loud buzz. This behavior is unheard of.

"You may leave," Bastion tells her coldly.

She takes no notice, staying directly in her place. Bastion can see tears spilling down her cheeks. "Leave," Bastions voice is practically a yell, the other Gamemakers take no notice. But he knows that she had heard him. More fears flow, yet she still does not move.

Bastion gets the attention of an Avox, moving his head he mimics a command that Pax taught him this morning. The Avox rushes out, after a few moments he comes back with several figures dressed in black. The President's security team.

They were not the people he intended but he watches as they roughly get the Tribute to her feet, she continues to stare unfeeling at the ceiling. When it's obvious she won't walk by herself they drag her roughly into the elevator, pushing the button for the second floor they leave her there while the doors close, her hands still bound.

He writes nothing on his paper this time, instead, he calls for the next Tribute to be brought out immediately. There is barely time for the Avox's to move the weapons, the red juice gets hastily mopped off the floor, some spatter still remaining.

 **Callum Lennon, 18, District 3.**

When Callum walks into the room he can tell something has happened. By the way, some Gamemakers look uneasy, the way others are still whispering to each other. But he knows that there is nothing he can do about it.

He takes a shaky breath, walking over to the weapons station he slips slightly on something wet on the floor. Almost falling he flails his arms to catch his balance. He looks down at the floor once he has gained it, trying to figure out what he slipped on. Its a liquid red as blood. He furrowed his eyebrows, wondering what could have caused the liquid to spill over the floor.

After a moment of hesitation, he continues walking. He has a plan and doesn't want this unexpected puzzle to ruin it. Walking over to where the weapons are he breezes past, grabbing one of the mannequins he hauls it across the room. Putting it a good distance away he wipes the sweat off of his face.

Bastion watches this Tribute with narrowed eyes, concerned about what the other Tributes are going to try. He seems harmless enough though, not nearly at the caliber of the Careers. Bastion has never thought to wonder what those who are not trained do during the Private Sessions. Now he is finding out.

Callum surprises the Gamemakers, taking off his shirt he exposes leanly muscled toro. His cheeks pink from the attention but he keeps going. Ripping his shirt he makes it into two strips. He wraps the larger strip around the mannequin, walking off toward a cupboard at the edge of the center he pulls two items out of it Bastion did not realize they had.

His eyebrows raise in surprise as Callum douses the cloth around the mannequin in a strong smelling liquid. He then goes to the weapons station, picking up a spear he wraps the cloth tightly around its point before dousing it in the same liquid. He takes a deep breath, walking away from the mannequin he stands a surprising distance away from it.

Taking a deep breath he gets the second item out of his pocket, a lighter. He has to flick it a couple of times, his shaking hands not able to sustain the flame he takes another deep breath. Then it happens. He sets the tip of the spear on fire. His eyes light up as he hurls the spear towards the mannequin, his muscles visibly straining.

The spear hits the mannequin in the chest. Callum's eyes lighting up in surprise when his plan works and the mannequin erupts into flames. Thick black, foul-smelling smoke billows from the mannequin and Callum smiles in triumph.

He then stands awkwardly for a moment, not planning anything else. "You may go," Bastion tells him. The moment the elevator doors close behind Avox's rush to douse the flames.

"Well, that was different," Pax whispers to Bastion as they write on their papers again. Spontaneous, different and interesting are a few of the words Bastion writes. Puzzling about what to give this Tributes overall grade. After another moment of thinking, he scribbles a number out of 12 at the top left corner of the paper.

Then he calls the next Tribute in.

 **Talia Lancaster, 15, District 3.**

Talia walks into the room timidly, Basion can see her shake in nervousness. Some pens start to write immediately. But Bastion waits, wanting to see what she can do. She looks at all the stations, standing still she's like a deer in the headlights. Obviously trying to decide what to show off.

She starts to walk toward the camouflage station, then moves her feet in the opposite direction and goes towards the archery. Shaking her head as if to clear it she picks up the smallest bow. Taking an arrow she knots it into the bow, turning towards the mannequins she shakily draws the bowstring back.

She lets the arrow go loose, it hits the upper shoulder of the mannequin, almost missing. A couple of the Gamemakers laugh. Bastion turns around and glares at them the way only a Victor could. The Gamemakers quiet after that.

Another arrow is notched into the bow, this time it embeds itself into the stomach of the mannequin. Talia smiles to herself, it's just a wisp of a smile, but Bastion catches it. A final arrow is notched but this one goes low, hitting the knee of the mannequin. It would be a bad injury to get inside of the Games, but it was obviously not where she was intending to shoot it.

Shaking her head softly she walks away from the archery station, placing the bow back on the rack softly it's as if she doesn't want to make any more noise to draw the Gamemakers attention towards her. This time she walks with more determination. Ending up at the camouflage station she pulls out a chair.

Sitting on it softly she starts to gather up different juices, muds, and materials. She stares at a reddish color tree that has been placed there for the Tributes to imitate. Biting her lower lip she starts to paint her left arm. Her strokes are practiced, it's clear she has done some form of art before.

It takes her a while, working with precision. Bastion can sense some of the Gamemakers getting bored but just as he is about to say something to them Talia stands up. Placing her arm against the tree it completely disappears. There's some mumbling in surprise at how good a job she has done.

Bastion dismisses the girl. She leaves without a word. Timid, quiet and artist are a few of the words that Bastion writes. It only takes a moment for the rest of the Gamemakers to write their notes too before Bastion is calling the next Tribute in.

 **Blake Calloun, 17, District 4.**

Blake walks into the room with a cocky smile on his face. Smirking at the Gamemakers he goes straight to the weapons. Bastion lets out a breath he did not realize he was holding, this should go normally. He is not ready for another surprise.

He picks up a spiked mace to start, a slightly unusual weapon but it is not unheard of in the Games. He squares off with one of the mannequins, a smirk on his face, he fake jabs at the mannequin as if teasing it. Eventually, he starts to hit it though, with no real precision he cuts into the flesh of the mannequin. The fake blood squirts up onto his shirt and face as he keeps hacking at it until the mannequin is nothing but a pile of chunks and blood on the floor.

He takes a moment to breathe, staring at the pulverized mannequin he laughs. Looking down at his shirt he seems to suddenly realize it is covered in blood. He does something that is not really a surprise for Blake at this stage. He takes his shirt off, exposing tanned muscle.

Looking up, he winks at the Gamemakers. Bastion rolls his eyes. Pax laughs beside him, obviously seeing the gesture. Blake then grabs two more weapons, they are small blades that have handles then end on three-pronged spikes each. He smiles as he throws them from hand to hand, getting a feel for their weight.

Then he turns his attention to another mannequin. Repeating what he did with the mace and pummeling the mannequin. Blood squirts out of the holes that he makes, this time coating his bare chest it turns his color from bronze to crimson. When the mannequin has more holes than flesh Blake stops, rubbing crimson hands through his blond hair he turns that to red too. It seems that he is doing it for the shock value.

Going back to the weapons rack yet again he grabs a spear, hurling it across the room he hits one of the punching bags that hangs from a beam. Two more spears hit it rapidly, a fourth cases the punching bag to rip, its filling and lower half spilling out over the floor.

Time is ticking down and Blake seems to sense that, grabbing a dagger he stares at another of the mannequins. Overemphasizing the movement there is a huge grin on Blakes' face like he just heard the funniest joke but he is the only one in on it. He goes to throw the dagger, but its course does not go toward the mannequin. Instead, he throws it with as much force as possible directly at the Gamemakers.

Bastion does not even think, his reflexes move before his brain as he throws his body from his seat across the one next to him. Using his own body to protect the woman sitting there. The moment happens before the rest of the Gamemakers have even processed it. One moment Bastion was in his chair, the next he was on top of The President.

But he was not needed. The dagger hits a force field invisible to the naked eye. It seems to stop in midair, directly in front of where The President is sitting. Then it drops. Straight down the dagger falls to the ground.

Blake smiles as he watches it fall. Then, he turns on his heels and walks straight toward the elevator. Not waiting to be dismissed he cheekily waves the Gamemakers off. "Thought I wouldn't recognize you, sweetheart?" He yells up towards The President. But no one cares to listen to him. No one notices when the doors of the elevators close.

Bastion moves his body off of The President, his heart banging in his chest. "I should have remembered to tell you about the force fields," Pax says simply. Offering Bastion a hand up he takes it gratefully.

"Are you okay?" He asks The President.

She closes her eyes for a long moment, aware of all of the eyes on her.

"Fine," she replies, offering a smile. Bastion pretends not to notice the shaking of her hands.

No one feels like writing on the rest of Blake's sheet, instead, they move on, calling out the next Tribute. Bastion settles back down in his chair, he can see The President shift uneasily in her chair next to him. He moves his body in a protective manner toward her. She looks at him gratefully as the next Tribute walks through the door.

 **Carolyn Aquana, 17, District 4.**

Carolyn does not look at the Gamemaker. They are here to observe her, not the other way around. She walks straight to the weapons, grabbing throwing knives she does not waste a beat before she starts throwing them at the mannequins.

Heads, hearts, foreheads, eyes, and lungs are what she aims for. Throwing dagger after dagger into each of the mannequins she doesn't miss a beat through her throws. She throws until there are no more daggers to throw. In front of her are several bleeding mannequins. Every dagger has hit its target in a deadly way.

She then calls out for an instructor. This time, a female Bastion does not recognize comes out. Pax whispers that its Vladilen's wife, aware of Bastions lack of knowledge. Carolyn and the trainer square off, not bothering to put on any protection Bastion is concerned that an injury may occur.

But before he can say anything Carolyn rushes at the female instructor, with practiced precision she hits the instructor several times, before jumping out of range as the instructor tries to get a hit in. The instructor bites back, hitting Carolyn in the chest before she gets hit across the check in return. The two women break away from each other, panting.

With a burst of speed Carolyn comes in and aims a palm to the instructor's nose, blood runs crimson up Carolyn's arm as a cracking sound can be heard. Carolyn then goes in, sweeping the female trainer's feet out from underneath her she pins the woman against the ground. She taps out, sweat running down her face.

"Give me a challenge," Carolyn yells as the instructor walks away. Picking up a trident Carolyn throws it at another mannequin, hitting it straight in the chest. Blood running from the three holes that it makes. She then picks up another trident as two more instructors come into the room. Both are much larger men and covered in protective mesh.

Carolyn smiles as they both come at her. She uses the stick end of the trident, hitting it into one of the instructor's chest. As he falls she uses the force of the impact to pivot her body upward, hitting both of her feet into the chest of the second instructor she pushes him back. He stares at her for a moment before she twirls the trident around her and throws it with as much force as possible toward the instructor.

The man throws his body out of the way as the trident sails past him. Following its journey across the room, it hits into one of the mannequins and goes straight through it, carving three prongs through its entire stomach area it hits the plastic wall that protects the running track. Landing with a hollow thud on the floor.

Bastion dismisses her after a heartbeat, she bows as she leaves the room. Not looking at the instructors. Bastion scribbles on his notes fearless, cold, and precise he writes. He gives the other Gamemakers another moment before calling out the next Tribute. The Careers are over now, it's time for the rest.

 **Oliver Apollo, 17, District 5.**

Oliver walks in confidently, puffing his chest out he goes to the fire starting station first. It's almost a cool relief for the Gamemakers to see something so mundane. Oliver quickly sparks a flint, his large hands showing remarkable softness as he cradles the flame with some kindling in his hands. When it grows too hot, starting to shoot out of his hands he drops it onto the floor. Stamping out the flame with a boot.

He then rushes up to the rock wall, propelling his body he reaches the top with unlikely speed for his large frame. From the top he jumps down, landing on top of large safety mat he rolls his body off of it. Taking a moment he wipes sweaty hair out of his face, in its wetness it has fallen down to his line of sight.

Moving on he jogs across the training center, taking a running leap he propels himself into the pool. His strokes are crude, but he uses sheer muscle to force his way across the water. It surprises Bastion as he himself does not know how to swim. Despite himself, he is impressed at how quickly the outlier has picked up the talent.

Oliver gets out of the pool, dripping wet he walks over to the weapons section. He picks up a large axe and throws it at a mannequin, hitting it in the chest blood squirts far away from it. Almost hitting the Tribute. Oliver then grabs a sword, hacking at the same mannequin he has no technique. Yet again using brunt force to hack off the limbs. It's not as smooth as someone like Ace, but its impressive in its own right.

Oliver finally finished. Panting as he looks up at the Game Makers. He bows and thanks them for their time as Bastion dismisses him. Writing on his notes Bastion categorizes this boy with the words strong, brutal and fast learner.

 **Caroline Hollyhock, 17, District 5.**

Caroline walks in nervously, a tremor in her step Bastion thinks that she looks ill. Oddly she is wearing multiple layers, a jumper covers her top half and she wears long black pants. Not the most movable outfit Bastion wonders what she is going to show off.

She heads to the survival station, like what Olivier did she lights a fire. Only hers takes a while longer to spark, her hands seem to tremor. Several times she drops the flint that she is holding only to pick it up again. Her determination is oddly captivating. Eventually, she lights her kindling and a small fire burns. She places it into a firepit, content to let it go out in its own time she moves on.

Going to a station designed to make snares she words with nimble fingers. Weaving ropes in between others she makes a complex pattern. Twirling an end around a small tree she demonstrates a stick getting caught in the trap. Instantaneously it is propelled into the air with enough force to make the stick bounce a few times as it descends.

She then starts to use bits of metal and her hair and combines them to make a fishhook. She has nothing to demonstrate it with so merely holds it up to the Gamemakers, looking slightly awkward. After another moment she goes to the edible plant's station and tests herself with the interactive screen, she scores 30/50.

After that, she merely looks up at the Gamemakers shrugging her shoulders she tries not to make eye contact with anyone. Bastion dismisses her quietly before writing on his paper quiet, timid and resourceful. He is interrupted when he hears the sound of someone vomiting.

Looking up he sees the female Tribute, her lunch is a brown muck that has left her stomach. It dribbles down her chin. Bastion quickly signals to an Avox, they help he walk into the elevator. "Run some tests on her," he commands Pax who nods. Pushing buttons on his screen again.

"I've had her referred to the clinic. They will run the usual tests," he tells Bastion.

 **Jerry Kapper, 15, District 6.**

Jerry walks in with a spring in his step, optimistic like always he narrows his eyes as he looks around the room. He bites his lip, he was planning on talking to the trainers. But they are so far away he's not sure they would take him seriously. A look at Bastion Steele and his mind has been changed, despite being head Gamemaker now all Jerry can see is last years Tribute and the way he cut down others inside of the arena.

Changing his mind he walks over to the edible plant's station, taking his time to answer the questions he tries to remember everything that the instructor taught him. It takes a while, but he ends with an impressive score of 47/50. He smiles a huge smile at his score, it is full of boyish joy. These Tributes are so different from the ones that have been trained.

He waits a moment, thinking about what he wants to do next before he walks over to one of the large rings. Calling out for an instructor to fight he picks up a large club. It has been padded but still packs a punch. The instructor passes him body protection which he puts on simply, pushing in a mouth guard his hair becomes tousled up in the headpiece. He just shrugs it off.

Facing off the instructor a signal is let off. Jerry slowly circles with the instructor, watching carefully he finds the pattern of the instructor's steps. But he's so enthralled with the instructor he stumbles slightly. The instructor uses it to his advantage, charging forward he hits Jerry across the stomach with his club.

Jerry falls to the floor wheezing. Bastion assumes the fight is over then and starts scribbling on his notes. Then he sees movement. Looking up he sees Jerry getting to his feet, blood running down his chin from when he bit his lip with the impact of the club.

Jerry stares at the instructor and they start to circle each other again. Jerry's raspy breathing can be heard clearly across the room. He flashes forward, striking the shoulder of the instructor he dodges back, missing the worst of the instructors blow it clips the side of his ribs. Jerry grits his teeth.

Surging forward with a final push Jerry uses all the force he can muster, smacking his club into the side of the instructors head he hits the floor with a loud thudding noise. Jerry pants over top of him, resting his hands on his knees he is doubled over. The instructor moves dazed underneath him and some Avox's come out to help him up. Off to the medical center.

"These Tributes are making a quick word of our Trainers," Pax laughs to Bastion. Clapping him on the back. Bastion categorizes this Tribute with the words diligent, intelligent and perseverating. He can feel a headache forming behind his eyelids. They seem unique to the Capitol. Rubbing his eyelids he realizes he is only halfway through the Tributes.

 **Esme Layton, 17, District 6.**

Esme walks in with a soft smile on her face, confidently walking she goes to a station no one else has yet. The weights. She starts off light, throwing around a couple of beach ball sized balls of sand she barely strains as she throws them across the room. One of them clatters into a rack of weapons and she smiles at the sound it makes as they all hit the floor.

She then goes in, picking up a large metal ball Bastion has only ever seen the likes of Nate and Ace throwing around. She strains as she picks it up by the handles, panting she throws it in front of her, it smashes against a punching bag. Causing the bag to rock precariously from its chain.

Esme then moves on, running around the room she puts on a similar show to Weiss, ducking, and diving and getting on top of things. She differentiated herself though. Climbing up one of the thick ropes she balances on the narrow rafters of the center. She takes a deep breath before she sits on the edge of one, staring across at the rest of the room.

Bastion feels his heart accelerate in his chest if this Tribute injures herself there won't be enough time to fix her before the Games. She does what he hoped she wouldn't. Swinging her body she hangs from the beam with only her arms. Bastion can hear a shocked gasp next to him from The President.

Esme starts to do pull-ups from the rafter, winking at the Gamemakers she is level with their elevated box. It's hard to know if it was unintentional or not, but one of her hands slips. Leaving her hanging by one arm she starts to wave at the Gamemakers.

After a few moments, she pulls herself up, now higher than the Gamemakers she walks her way down the beam. Sliding down a metal pole she thumps against the hard floor of the center. She ignores the pain it must have caused, walking towards the weapons rack exhaustion can be seen clear as day on her face.

She bites her lip as she picks up a sword, hacking into one of the mannequins the blood spurts over her sweat-soaked clothes. Making it look like she went swimming in a river of blood. When she finishes backing at the mannequin, leaving the sword embedded into its flesh she looks up at the Gamemakers.

"Thanks for your time," she tells them. Bastion excuses her after that, running a hand through his hair he wonders what to do about these Tributes. Pushing, courageous, and suicidal are the words he writes for this Tribute.

"She'll hoping for a high score, of the Careers won't take her seriously." Pax comments, scribbling on his paper. The score she gets could make or break her place. Or, it could cause chaos.

 **Nirvana Ivanov, 18, District 7.**

Nirvana walks into his session oozing with a sleazy confidence. Puffing his chest out he smiles a cheeky grin up a the Gamemakers. He stands in front of them taking his time he ties his hair out of his face. Pulling his braids into a loose ponytail he seems to enjoy making them wait on him.

Then he moves on, walking toward the edible plant station he has a cocky grin as he answered the questions that pop up on screen. He finishes it remarkably quickly, but his 25/50 leaves room for improvement. He scowls at his score, doing the test again with narrowed eyes he manages 30/50.

Bastion watches as the boy yells at the machine before marching over to the weapons. Grabbing the largest axe available he forces it down onto the machine. At first, nothing happens, it has been designed to withstand the rage of Tributes.

But after a few hits from the ax, it is no use. The axe cuts through the machine, sparks flying up toward Nirvana's bare arms the boy jumps back, yelping at the heat as a shock of electricity travels up the metal axe and into his flesh.

The shock causes him to fall over backward, landing heavy on the floor he looks stunned for a second. The axe falls next to him, clattering on the floor. Bastion wonders if he will have to call a medic. But his worries only last a moment, the boy picks himself off the ground. His eyes are narrowed to slits.

Nirvana walks over to where a mannequin is placed, its eyeless face staring toward the boy he lifts his axe up high. He splits its head in two, right down to the neck. Blood squirts up the axe handle, falling over Nirvana he smiles as it hits his face.

He then moves on to another mannequin, this time he pulls the axe back, swinging it forward he takes the head clean off. It falls on the floor with a squishing sound. Nirvana stares at the head, panting he swings at one more mannequin, letting the axe handle fly it cuts deeply into the flesh. Only its handle can be seen.

Nirvana then wipes the flood off of his face, spitting on the floor he walks over to the elevators and leaves without a second glance. "It's going to take a moment to get that machine fixed," Pax informs Bastion.

 **Bastion Steele, 19, District 1.**

Bastion nods, calling a fifteen-minute break. He writes explosive, temperamental and childish on his paper. From the sounds of the other Gamemakers, they are split, some found his performance amusing and blood-crazed. Others thought it was the work of a childish tantrum not going his way.

"How are you feeling?" He asks The President, his voice low.

She looks back at him with a peculiar expression, "like I have no other options," she replies.

Bastion can't place that sentence, it's not something that The President should be saying. Though he's not quite sure why. He ponders it through a conversation with Pax, not quite able to give the man his full attention. Pax does not seem to notice though, enjoying the sound of his voice as he rambles on about the Tributes seen so far and who will make it to the end. Bastion just smiles and nods when appropriate.

But then Pax takes him off guard, "of course Aetius was betting on Blake, I've never seen it in that boy. He just seems too overconfident to me."

It takes Aetius a moment to process those words. Betting. "I thought that citizens involved with the Games weren't allowed to bet?" He replies, trying to sound as tactful as possible.

"Oh, you don't know!" Pax squeezes. "Of course you don't, you are new here, after all, well I guess it's very different in the Districts." Pax winks at Bastion. Bastion stares ahead coolly.

Pax drops his voice lower, looking over to where The President stands uneasily. "There's always underground betting for us officials." Pax winks at bastion, his expression lighting up.

"I bet you're going to go for Ace, aye? He sure does look prepared and I know you have a soft spot for him. Personally, my money is on Weiss with her father as Victor and all. I hope you don't take offense."

Bastion bites his tongue, trying to hide his expression he says simply "I'm not betting," before walking away from Pax. Practically shaking in anger he marches over to the only person he knows he won't be disturbed standing next to.

"I don't want to talk," he tells The President. Who raises her eyebrows in shock at the murderous expression on his face. He doesn't explain, trying to stop his arms from shaking he takes deep breaths. He was just starting to think some of these people were okay. Then they do something like that and set him off again. Tributes aren't people to them, they are numbers and ways to earn money. He was a way to earn money.

He stands next to The President, staring at the floor until it is time to go back inside. There are more Tributes to watch. Bastion walks back, almost reluctantly. Wishing that he never agreed to take this position, but understanding there was no other option.

 **Willow Ashes, 16, District 7.**

When Willow enters the room she's nervous and fidgety. Nirvana took way too long and she looks up nervously toward the Gamemakers. But they give nothing away to her, instead, they look back coolly. She catches a whiff of something that smells like burnt plastic and wonders what has happened.

But she knows she needs to keep going, no matter what has happened. And surely someone would've told her if something happened to Nirvana. She walks forward, diverting to the left she stands against the rock wall. Quickly she gets her bearings, climbing up the rocks she scurried across it, not just trying to get to the top, but to show how she can use any of the rocks to her advantage.

She makes an impressive show, dangling from places she obviously is trying to impress. Eventually, she stops. Climbing her way back down she carefully plants her feet on the floor and smiles in triumph to herself.

She then makes a run for some other equipment, climbing up ropes and around hanging bags, she tries to make every object possible apart of her own personal playground. She keeps her smile. Only the sweat that has started to break out over her body shows the exertion that she has put in to make the display.

When she bores of climbing around the room she walks towards the weapons. Picking up a smaller axe she throws it at a mannequin, hitting it square in the face blood spurts to her feet. She picks up several of the smaller axes, managing some impressive feats, hitting some right at internal organs.

She doesn't always go for the heart.

Showing anatomical knowledge that an instructor must have taught her she hits mannequins intestines, livers, kidneys. All fatal wounds they show a calculation of her own. Finally, she finishes, picking up a larger axe she runs at one of the mannequins, embedding it into its chest.

Bastion dismisses her panting figure. Adapt, quick and precise are some of the words he uses to describe this Tribute. He signs he does not have a wide enough vocabulary to fully explain all of these individuals. Instead, he has what he has picked up from the District and the Capitol. Even in District 1, there isn't much for schooling, even less for a dropout.

 **Weft Loomis, 15, District 8.**

Weft walks into the room shaking with nervousness. He stammers out a greeting to the Gamemakers before looking unsure of himself. He takes the most time out of any Tribute to pick a station, looking unconfident as he walks to the edible plant station.

Bastion snorts, hoping that he will put on a better show than Nirvana.

Weft takes his time at the station, not taking as long as some of the others, but still a decent time. He ends with 41/50, an impressive score for someone with no prior knowledge of the plants. He looks a little proud of himself when it comes up, but he also furrows his brows, knowing that it could be better.

He then turns to the Gamemakers and does something rather unexpected, he starts talking to them. "That berry," he points to a deep purple berry that he on display. "Causes your guts to rot from the inside out. Usually, it takes a couple days to take effect." This is all knowledge that he showed on the test so no one quite knows what he is getting at.

"Well, it usually takes a couple of days to notice. So, if I was to put it in with food for another Tribute I could make sure they eat it. Then run away that night. They would die slowly and painfully at my hand. But I would not have to be anywhere nearby when they realize." He looks up at the Gamemakers, a sparkle in his eyes at his own wit.

"That berry," he points to one of a similar shade, only it has dark black spots almost impossible to see. "That one causes almost instantaneous death. Within 2 minutes." He smiles a toothy grin. "If it was just me and another Tribute and they got too annoying, I could feed them that and watch them die." His eyes sparkle again, obviously proud of the argument that he is presenting to the judges.

"That one," he points to a final plant. It's a bush, with deep green leaves that are slightly jagged on the end. "The sap found inside the leafs causes hallucinations and infection in any wound it comes in contact with, if the sap was to be placed on a weapon, preferably long range like a bow or spear, you wouldn't even need a killing strike, the poison would slowly kill the Tribute, to succumb to the poison, or be taken out by someone stronger." Weft says this last plant in one sentence. Sucking in a huge breath once he is finished he practically shakes from the excitement of what knowledge he has shown.

He then stands proudly, puffing out his chest he stares at the Gamemakers. Bastion waits, to see if he will demonstrate any skill with one of the weapons he just mentioned. But Weft doesn't. He just stares back, his body shaking slightly.

Bastion releases him and the boy walks calmly to the elevator. Intelligent, over-confident and dry are a few of the words Bastion writes for this boy. His paper looking sparse compared to others when he has finished.

 **Violet Mercury, 14, District 8.**

The thought of Jasper is what keeps Violet strong as she walks into the room. She knows that he would want her to do everything possible to get back home to him. That includes getting a good score at these sessions. Walking in she introduces herself to the Gamemakers slightly awkwardly, not sure if she is needing to or not.

But her father told her first impressions are more important than anything else and it is a rule she has lived by ever since. She decides to start with her best station and walks over to the edible plant's test. She breezes through it, only stopping to think for a few of the questions she ends with 47/50. Bastion raises his eyes, he did not expect such a good score from such a timid looking girl.

She then moves over to the other survival stations. She makes a thin and delicate snare, showing off its force with another twig it grasps it snuggly. She then starts to camouflage part of her arm, attempting to copy a rock near the station she bites her lip in concentration as she works.

When she places her arm on the rock to show it off her expression falls. It's an okay job, but anyone with longer than a quick glance at the spot would know that it is a man-made design. Smudging the design she walks onward, ending at the bottom of the climbing wall.

She attempts to climb the wall, getting a couple of meters up it before dropping back on the ground again. She loses her position in the air, even in such a small drop and falls on her side on the floor. She lies there for longer than necessary and Bastion wonders if something has happened to her.

But when she gets up Bastion can see that she is trying to hold back tears, they dance at the edge of her eyes. It's almost too hard to watch. Taking a deep breath Violet goes over to the weapons station.

At least she's giving it a go Bastion thinks. Thinking back to all the others who did not bother to show off these skills. He wonders if any of them are purposefully trying to get low scores. He knows that was the strategy of District 4's Mentor, Alice Dunbar, during her Games.

Violet picks up a bow, aiming it at one of the mannequins she fires. It skims over the right shoulder of the mannequin, not even leaving a mark. Taking a deep breath she tries again, this time the arrow misses the side of the mannequins head by a good couple of meters. Her hands are shaking so badly it's like the bow is trying to dance its way out of her fingers.

But she grits her teeth, going for one last attempt she notches the arrow. She can barely see the mannequin through the tears that are threatening to fall. This arrow barely makes its way from the bow, falling short a couple of meters before the mannequin Violet looks at it for a moment before bursting into sobs.

Bastion dismisses her and she hurries out of the room. Genius, weak and pitiful is what Bastion writes. He shakes his head, trying to get the image of the tears rolling down that girl's cheeks out of his mind. It comes full force when he writes her score.

 **Cole Rockweld, 15, District 9.**

Cole walks in with a look of determination clouding his gaze. It's a relief for the Gamemakers to see after the others have been nervous and unsure of themselves. They know that this Tribute will put on a show. Some mutter in unease when his wedding band flashes in the light. But it is not enough for Bastion to yell at them to silence, he feels it too in the pit of his stomach.

Cole walks over to where a wrack of knives hangs. Picking up a thin one he throws it from hand to hand, getting a feel of his weight. He then turns and practices his throw, moving his arm like he was going to throw he does not let go of the knife. He repeats this process a few times.

Finally, he throws it. The knife embeds itself into the forehead of one of the mannequins and blood squirts out. Cole smiles, partially in triumph, and partially in the shock of actually achieving his goal.

Grabbing some different sized knives he repeats his slow process. Embedding the knives into the foreheads and chests of the mannequins none of his throws go wide or land anywhere that they are not supposed to. It is impressive for an outlier.

After he is done with the knives he picks up a crossbow, loading a bolt into the trigger he squeezes one eye closed. Taking a deep breath he shoots on his exhale, the bolt hits straight into the heart of the mannequin.

He then moves on, requesting a trainer he stands in the ring like the Tributes before him. Bastion barely notices when he puts on his protection. So used to the process he blocks it out, just like the Avoxes cleaning up the center after each Tribute.

An instructor comes out, matching Coles height he obviously packs a lot more muscle than the slender boy. Cole does not look surprised though, he shakes the man's hand before they start. Staring each other down neither moves when the sound goes off to alert them to start.

They stay locked, staring down each other. The tension is palpable in the air. The instructor moves first, charging towards Cole he attempts to get Cole in a body lock. When it looks like Cole has been grabbed, he throws his body to the left sprawling on the mat but out of the instructors grasp. He quickly gets to his feet.

The instructor wastes no time in diving on Cole again, this time he takes the boy to the ground. It looks like Coles been pinned but then he wriggles out of the instructors grasp. Wasting no time he gets on top of the instructor. Grabbing the first limb he can find, the instructor's arm, he twists it back, putting the instructor into a painful armlock. The instructor taps out and Cole releases him, Cole laughs at the instructor tousles his curly hair good-naturedly. Cole shakes his hand again as he leaves, a huge smile on his face.

He faces the judges, his grin still wide and thanks them for their time. Bastion dismisses him after that, a grin on his face. Coles charm is hard to resist. Bowing, Cole leaves. He practically skips out of the room. Boyish, calculated and meticulous. Are what Bastion writes on his paper, his smile is just fading when the next Tribute walks in.

 **Kalista Stone, 17, District 9.**

Kalisa walks into the room with a confident smirk on her face. She doesn't introduce herself to the Gamemakers, instead, she starts darting around the room. Putting on a similar show to some of the other girls she shows off her agility by climbing over and under objects, wriggles in small spaces and getting up ropes in extremely fast times.

After she scurries up the rock wall she jumps off of it and onto the mat. As she descends she does a forward flip in the air. Landing on her feet she sticks her arms out to keep her balance. It's an unexpected addition to her routine and offers a freshness to the agility theme. It's even more unexpected when, to get off of the elevated mat, she does a backward flip. Landing again perfectly on her feet she walks from the spot like she has done nothing special.

She then goes to the weights, throwing them around she makes quick work of some of the lighter ones. Grunting, she picks up one on the heavier sizes and throws it a good few meters in front of her. She then throws a few more of the heavier weights around, her muscles bulging they are almost as big as the female Careers. Almost. There's certainly a furosity, a maliciousness, a lethality that defines the Careers from the rest of the pack. But some of the outliers are picking it up.

After Kalista is done with the weights, sweat rolling off of her body she walks over to the weapons. She's the first one to pick up this weapon. A scythe. She tests the edge of it, running her thumb along the blade crimson droplets hit the floor. She smiles at it, her teeth gleaming in the light.

Turning toward the mannequins she slices chunks of flesh off of their plastic flesh. Blood gushing onto the floor from the slices that she makes. With a lazy smile on her face, she slashes at no mannequin, in particular, taking slices off of one and then switching to another seemingly on a whim. She holds the scythe like an extension of her arm, no one else has seemed quite as comfortable with their weapons.

Bastion raises his eyes when he realizes that her slashes are not random, somehow, she is targeting the veins. He looks again, like spiderwebs the slices are in intricate patterns across the mannequins. All made with precision and all gushing blood onto the floor. It's almost flooded with the blood from the mannequins.

She stands in the puddle that she has made, her boots soaked in the red liquid. She looks up, smiling at the Gamemakers she offers a wink as Bastion dismisses her. She walks confidently away, not glancing back.

Agile, destructive and natural are the words that Bastion writes on his paper. He can hear the other Gamemakers whisper about this Tribute who has flown under the radar so far. It takes him a moment to realize why. She kissed a girl at her reapings. Aetius was doing his best to bury her in the pack of them.

 **Trafalgar Zaun, 15, District 10.**

Trav walks into the training center with a simple plan in their mind. They don't want to waste time warming the Gamemakers up. Or try to entertain them in other ways. They aren't even expecting a particularly good score. Now they have an alliance they are hoping to go under the radar, getting a low score from the Private Sessions will do that for them.

So, they walk straight to the weapons. Grabbing a scythe in their hands they turn on their heels, staring at one of the mannequins. Briefly, they wonder how many mannequins that the Gamemakers have gone through today.

Then they wonder how the Gamemakers get all of the fake blood for them. They know it stains clothes, they got some on a white top one of the days of training and it would not come off no matter how hard they tried. Maybe it's the kind of dye or pigment they use. But it certainly sticks. They wonder how many Tributes will go back to their apartments coated in the stuff. Surely, quite a few of them. This is the time to make impressions.

With one motion they put as much force as possible into their one stroke. This will be their impression. The blow connects beautifully and the head of the mannequin is cut cleanly off. It falls on the floor after a few heartbeats. Trav doesn't say anything, instead, they walk straight out of the training center.

The Gamemakers are left surprised. The Tribute barely spent two minutes with them. Raised eyebrows are traded as they write brief words. Bastion writes curt, dull and pretentious in his notes. Not that impressed at the Tributes arrogance.

 **Eva Brath, 14, District 10.**

Eva walks in with a tremor in her step. She wasn't expecting to come in so quickly and wonders what happened to Trav and if they are okay. She quickly shakes the thought out of her mind, Trav is smarter than that. They will know what they are doing.

She walks to the survival stations, taking solace in the simple movements that she can make at this station. She starts with the edible plant test, taking her time she bites her bottom lip hard enough to make it bleed. The crimson stream runs down her lip, a dot of it falls on the pad of the machine and she looks at it in surprise. In her concentration not realizing the injury that she has inflicted on herself.

She ends the test with a score of 37/50. She looks disappointed at her score, like half of her wants to try again. Then she touches her lip and moves on. She kneels on the ground, grabbing some rope she tries to start to create a snare. Her hands tremble so badly it takes her a couple of attempts for every knot.

When she tries to test out her snare, using a twig she finds underneath one of the trees for camouflage, her snare triggers. But it untangles after a moment, leaving the stick on the ground she stares at it sadly. Letting out an exhausted sigh she takes a moment to just stand there and stare at her failed snare.

She takes a deep breath and after another moment she walks toward the pool. She slowly gets into the water, wincing at its coolness against her skin. She starts to paddle, crude strokes get her across the water at an extremely slow pace. She has no real method to her strokes, her arms bend at the elbows and her legs bend at the knees. She looks like she is attempting a front crawl, but it looks more like the doggy paddle. After one length of the pool, she is obviously exhausted and struggles to pull herself out of the water.

She then stands at the edge of the pool, her clothes hugging her frame so she practically looks like a breathing skeleton. She stares with her too big eyes up at the Gamemakers, choosing to look above them and not directly at any of them her skin pales even further. She practically turns paper white.

Bastion dismisses the girl, she shivers as she walks over to the elevators. She trips on a protruding obstacle, sprawling on the floor she yelps as her elbow is skinned on the ground. After that she rushes off, staring at the floor.

"Send the medic to check on her tonight," Bastion orders Pax as he scribbles on his paper. Timid, fearful and apprehensive are some of the words that Bastion rites. Sighing as he gives her a number out of 12, she certainly won't be making the Sponsors heartbeats quicken.

 **Harvest Kohl, 15, District 11.**

Harvest walks in with a confidence to his stride despite his lanky frame. He walks straight toward the weapons stations, continuing the recent trend he grabs a scythe to start. He playfully raises one eyebrow to the Gamemakers as he twirls the scythe around his body. Looking only slightly awkward at the sharpness of the weapon he continues to spin it, getting dangerously close to his body at some points he keeps his nerve and gets the Gamemakers sitting at the edges of their seats.

After he is done showing off he turns the scythe toward the mannequins. Slicing deep cuts into the flesh he cuts down to the bone. Blood squirts over his face from the sheer power that he manages to extract through the weapon. His brows furrowed in concentration as he continues to hack, after three strikes the head falls off.

After two to the left arm, it hits the floor with a thud, after only one to the right arm it also hits the floor. Then he starts hacking into the body, taking chunks off of the already carved flesh. When the mannequin is just chunks on the floor he stops, wiping the blood off of his face as he pants over what he has accomplished.

He almost looks shocked at the destruction he has managed to portray through the blade that he had used for months at a time during the farming seasons. He then puts the weapon down, shaking from the exertion of what he has been doing. He wipes more sweat off of his face. His singlet is coated in sweat, showing his pale skin that is coated in freckles underneath.

Walking on he gets to the survival stations, looking like he is about to start to light a fire he stops just before he starts to light it. Turning on his heels he walks in the opposite direction, toward the pool.

He takes a running leap into the water, spitting a mouthful up out of his mouth it erupts above the water like a whales blowhole. He then goes into a solid front crawl in the water, getting a surprising amount of power in his strokes he swims a few laps of the pool. After he seems to get bored of swimming he simply floats on the top of the surface, enjoying the cool feeling of the water against his hot skin.

Eventually, he gets out of the water, the blood running off of his face and hitting the floor of the center and creating a pink color. Harvest then looks back to the survival stations like he wants to show off there but then rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

He spent too long in the water and he knows that. The time has ticked down and now he just waits to be let go. Bastion senses that the boy is waiting to leave and tells him to go. He walks off, leaving a trail of water in his wake he smiles to the Avox's that appear to clean it up.

Confident, strong and disorganized Bastion writes, chewing on his pen when deciding what overall score to give to him. Eventually, he writes a number, not sure in his heart if it is the right one or not. He will be interested to see what the other Gamemakers have written for this specific Tribute.

 **Poppy Northrop, 15, District 11.**

Poppy walks in with a slight smile to her face. Her eyes dart around the room, taking in the familiar stations that have now taken on a new edge with the gaze of the Gamemakers watching on over them.

She walks to a new station, one that is rarely used though invaluable. The medical station, most Tributes brush past it in the Private Sessions and in the general training. Maybe it was because the instructor was a dull lady, or because the station was tucked in the corner of the room. But Poppy spent awhile at it. Maybe she just intimidated the other Tributes off. Though she doesn't believe that, she is one of the least intimidating ones here.

At the medical station, she starts to demonstrate different bandage types. Not the most interesting for the Gamemakers to watch but Poppy is not doing it for them. She is doing this for herself. She knows that if she wants to make it far in the Games she will need medical knowledge.

One bandage she shows helps to support the wound as well as stop bleeding. Another is for deep wounds, ones that should normally use stitches. Another bandage is for light wounds but blocks out infection. She has learned how to use the different bandage types of the Capitol and differentiate how much pressure should be put on the skin.

She then gets an idea. It's one thing showing them work against her own skin. Another thing to show them working against flesh. So, she takes her bandages, the ones specifically made for deep wounds and walk towards the mannequins.

Picking up a large dagger she is not here to show precision with that. Instead, she gets right up to a mannequin and drags the dagger against its flesh. The blood starts flowing immediately. She shows extreme concentration as she wraps the bandage against the wound remembering everything that the instructor has taught her over the past few days.

After a couple of moments, the wound stops bleeding, the bandage becoming darker in color but no blood dripping through. Poppy looks at her work with pride. But she knows that being able to heal won't get her the Sponsors attention, it's being able to kill as well.

So, she takes a step back from the mannequin that she has just healed. She picks up one of the small knives on the bench. Taking a moment to breathe she throws the knife at the mannequin, it hits it in the forehead. Another knife is thrown and it hits the chest, slightly to the left. Right over its heart.

She looks almost sadly at the mannequin that she tried to heal one moment then destroyed the next. Bastion dismisses her after a moment of her staring and she walks to the elevator with a hard to read expression.

Soft, careful and valuable are the traits that Bastion assigns this Tribute. He realizes how important she will be in an alliance. He only had a crude knowledge of medical care in his Games and it almost cost him when he lost his eye.

 **Flint Fraser, 13, District 12.**

The next boy to walk in is so small he almost goes unnoticed by the Gamemakers. They have grown tired, rubbing their eyes they want the sessions over and done with. Flint does not let this affect him though. Turning his large glasses his eyes lot as large as in owls inside of the lens. It's startling for the Gamemakers and despite themselves, they pay attention to this small boy.

He starts his session in an almost comical way. Squeezing into tiny gaps he uses his underdeveloped frame to his advantage. SHowing off a boyish courage and strength he climbs objects that are not supposed to be climbed and shuffles up walls. He has a charm about the way he does it which means the Gamemakers can't help but smile.

The only constant to his movements is the constant adjustment of the glasses. Then continue to drop down, their wireframe slightly bending with the movements. But Flint does not let that affect him, he has gotten used to the feel of the glasses and treasures them. They are apart of his sister. Her final gift. That he can bring into the arena with him. For that, he would sacrifice adjusting them every second, if it meant he could keep a part of her with him.

Once he's done wriggling around he gives the Gamemakers a thumbs up before going toward the edible plant's station. He has to squint at the screen behind the lenses of the glasses and manages 46/50. Not too shabby of a score in his mind.

He finally goes towards the weapons. Grabbing a knife he throws it toward one of the mannequins. It sticks into its left bicep, blood spurting from the impact. Another knife if thrown, this one is slightly heavier, and goes low. It strikes the mannequin in its groin. A couple of the Gamemakers wince.

He takes another knife, this time getting a feel of the weapon before throwing it. It embeds itself into the chest of the mannequin, slightly to the right. Flint doesn't seem to mind this and he stops throwing knives, staring at the Gamemakers exhaustion can be seen clear as day on his face.

Bastion dismisses him. Small, bright and under-dog are some of the words Bastion writes. He is one of the last ones to finish writing for this Tribute. He realizes how overlooked these outliers are, especially the small ones. But if they can't catch him they can't kill him.

 **Pricilla Winters, 15, District 12.**

Pricilla walks in with a nervous tremor to her walk. Staring up at the Gamemakers she attempts to smile but she can't quite make her lips curl at the edges. There is a nervousness that seeps from her, it can be seen in the whites of her eyes.

She walks over to the survival stations for a start, crouching on the ground she uses a flint and attempts to light a fire. Her hands shake so badly that she ends up catching her hand on the sharp edge, blood drops onto her kindling. Wetting it in crimson droplets.

Taking a moment to apply pressure to the cut. When it stops bleeding she starts again with new kindling, there is a new resolve in her eyes. She gets the kindling alight with a lucky spark and soon she has a mini inferno going. She leaves it to burn itself out, the resolve not leaving.

She uses the test at the edible plant station, scoring 32/50 she shows no emotion. Taking a moment to look over all of the kinds of plants again it's like she is trying to learn and not show off. Bastion realizes this is exactly what she is doing. She wants to learn in her final times possible. She already knows that her score will not be all that high.

Then she walks over to the weapons. Picking up the smallest knife she can find she throws it with all her strength at the mannequin. It sails over its left shoulder, just nicking the skin a faint dribble of blood comes out. It is nothing more than a scratch.

She takes a deep breath. The tremors have started to overcome her body again and she struggles to hold the next knife straight in her hand. Throwing another one it hits the chest of the mannequin, but does not have nearly enough power. The very tip pierces the mannequin's chest but the knife falls use when gravity takes hold. It falls against the floor with a clatter.

She picks up a final knife, gritting her teeth in frustration she throws it with no clear direction. It embeds itself into the stomach of the mannequin, finally sticking, blood falls from the wound.

She then turns on her heels and starts to walk out, Bastion dismissing her when she is halfway across the room. She does not look back at the sound of his voice and when she finally turns to press the button on the elevator her eyes are full of tears

Weak, scared and committed are the words that Bastion writes. No one takes much time for this Tribute. The Gamemakers are exhausted from watching all of the Sessions. It's almost like they have run a marathon.

 **Bastion Steele, 19, District 1.**

Bastion faintly realizes that Pax has stopped his commentary and now the man is staring at him cooly. Bastion will have to apologize for his actions earlier. Right now he can't. He just wants to go home. Not to his new mansion in the Capitol. But to his home in the Districts. Away from all the pressure and lies.

But his day is not nearly over. He stands at the edge of the doorway as he dismisses the rest of The Gamemakers. Collecting their notebooks as they walk out. The finalized scores are due in less than eight hours to the television crew.

The President is the last one to go out, standing across from Bastion her eyes are like a stormcloud of emotions. "Do you want some help with the scores?" She asks, surprising Bastion.

He's not sure how to reply. He greatly would need a hand and it seems wrong to tell The President anything but yes. At the same time, this is not expected from her. He knows that this has never been done before. So, he trusts his gut.

"I would appreciate that," he tells her. "There's enough room in my office, follow me." He leads The President back to the room he has only just started getting familiar with. There's a sitting area in one of the corners where two plush loveseats face each other.

Bastion sits on one and the President sits on the other, in between them on a coffee table the notebooks are stacked. Bastion clicks on a button which causes curtains to cover the windows of the office. Now he cannot overlook the other Gamemakers, but they will be in private. Most of them are going home now anyway. To drink.

Clicking on another button the white wall become alight with a thin glass screen. He stands up, using a special marker he writes the first Tributes name. Ace's and then starts to look in the notebooks, writing all of the scores that the other Gamemakers have given him.

"Can I get you anything to drink President Crimson? We are going to be here for awhile." He asks, he has forgotten common courtesy in his mental exhaustion.

"I'll have some Avox's send in some water," she replies getting up she talks into a mouthpiece and almost instantaneously an Axos comes in with a jug of water, condensation runs down the side of it and Bastion realizes his thirst. They both thank the Axos as he leaves the room.

"Bastion can you do me a favor?" The President asks him, both sitting back down to drink.

"Of course," Bastion replies. Nervousness about what the President is about to ask causes goosebumps to raise under his heavy clothes.

"Call me Ziva."

 **Authors note: Oh boyo that was a long chapter to write! I know I request reviews on every chapter, but this one would mean the world to me if you could take the time to do an indepth one. This chapter took so long to write I'm so proud of completing it! I hope you all like how I wrote your Tributes, there are a few supprises in there ;)**

 **There is only a handful of chapters left before the Games begin and I am so happy to tell you that!**

 **As always may the odds be ever in your favour,**

 **and,**

 **thank you for your sacrifice.**


	31. Revelation (TRIBUTE SCORES)

**Bastion Steele, 19, District 1.**

Bastion is exhausted when the sun sets. He has only had just enough time to get changed before going out again. His day has been spent in the Tribute Center and with the Gamemakers in the next building across. He's jittery, having too much caffeine to hope that his body stays alert. It would not be a good look to fall asleep where he's going. Especially with his guest. The sun has just started to dip beneath the horizon, hidden by sky-scraping buildings he walks alongside another. They have to be careful if they are caught questions that they cannot risk to answer will be asked.

He sighs in relief when he reaches the most well-known mansion in the Capitol. The Presidents. Walking up a security guard with a deep scar across his cheek lets them in iron gates. He is dressed in black. Around his chest, underneath his tight shirt is a rectangle shaped bulk. A bulletproof vest.

He has slicked back hair that is chin length, jet black some strands have fallen out of order. He is handsome Bastion thinks. And young. His scar just makes him more him. "Follow me," he instructs Bastion. Leading them over the pathed ground. It gets darker as they walk into the mansion, moving away from the bright lights of the rest of the world.

The guard opens the door, letting Bastion walk in front he closes the door behind them. Bastion feels oddly at ease as he grasps the hand of the women next to him. The guard leads them into a large sitting room and Bastion feels a smile creep over his face when he sees the two women sitting together on an overly large couch. He spent a lot of time today with one of them.

The fear he used to have for one of the women is gone. Instead, it is replaced with a spark of friendliness. She explained more to him than she should of when they sat together around the Tribute scores. Trying to convey how she tries to keep her power but make it better for all of the others. She balances on the social status of the Capitol the way a Tribute balances with death.

The women on his mind gets up, a broad smile on her face. "I see you've met Isaiah," she says fondly, gesturing to the guard.

"He was in such a rush to get us here we didn't bother with greetings," Bastion jokes. He extends his hand and Isaiah grips it firmly. A brooding look on the man's face he breaks into a soft smile when he shakes the hand of the woman who came with Bastian. After the handshake has finished he takes her hand and kisses it softly.

"The pleasure is all mine," Isaiah replies. The woman still sitting on the couch laughs at Isaiah's greeting, she stands, stretching out her back as she does so. Bastion looks over at this women, she has turquoise eyes and hair a couple of shades lighter than he imagined. The smile on her face is one of those that he will never forget. It's full of a radiance for life that Bastion rarely sees.

"I don't think we've had the pleasure of meeting yet, I'm Anya." The woman announces, she shakes Bastions hand as well. She has a soft grip, almost as if her hand could fall from his at any moment. He matches her, shaking softly the woman smiles again.

"I've heard all about you," Bastion tells her cheekily.

"Only good things I hope," she says, flashing a glance at her lover.

"Only good things," Bastion confirms. "This is Coraline," he announces his guest to the rest of the group. She stands close to him, her body pressed up against his he can tell that she has fear around the others in the room. She was invited to come while they discussed the Tributes but Bastion is still apprehensive. He's worried about how many people know about their secret already.

"Welcome Coraline," Anya says, wrapping the woman in a warm hug. Coraline only looks awkward in the hug for a moment. Bastion can see the indecision in her eyes before she hugs the woman back, letting herself relax into the presence of the Capitol. Bastion can only imagine how hard that much be for her. When the two women part Coraline smiles back, using her hands she replies to the woman's greeting.

"She says it's nice to meet you," Bastions lips speak for her and Anya looks up in surprise. "It's my talent," he explains with a wink. There is some laughter around them. Coraline hugs Bastion around the side, she will never be able to convey fully the appreciation for what he has done for her. It was the best gift she thinks she will ever receive. Bastion has not told her about what was discussed yet.

"I ought to sort that out," the woman with the most power in the room says, musing allowed.

"Not with all you're planning Ziva," Aya replies and a slight darkness descends around the room. Anya has been digging through files since Ziva got her resolve and while Bastion has not had anything explicitly said he understands that things are in the motion. Dark and dangerous things. Only Isaiah seems unaffected, his mood already dark.

Bastion glances down at his watch and his heart leaps in his chest, "it's about time," he tells the group and they settle back onto the room. Ziva and Anya share the overly large couch while Coraline and Bastion sit together on a loveseat. Isaiah sits alone on a chair near the back of the room, his eyes darting to the doorway every few seconds. Always alert.

They turn on the television to see Drusus Lionella, talking obnoxiously like always he smiles and jokes with another commentator about what they are expecting the results to be. To Bastion they will not be a surprise and Ziva knows most of them. But curiosity radiates off the others in the room, despite themselves tonight will still be very interesting. Bastion smirks as Drusus predicts a high score with confidence. He certainly is going to get a shock at tonight's results.

"Aetius had plans to broadcast the Private Sessions, getting rid of him is looking better and better every day." Ziva states as Drusus continues to talk inside of the screen.

"That and betting on Blake," Bastion jokes. He informed Ziva on the betting ring as they went over the Tributes scores. She was not all that surprised. Not ready to confront them yet she decided to keep the information to herself for now. Ready to come in handy if needed in the near future.

When Bastion took over as Gamemaker Pax gave him some invaluable advice. _People only remember the extremely good scores and the extremely bad. Don't worry about getting the middle bunch perfect, but make sure you show those who are the threats. Those you want to be targeted, and those you want to get rid of. High scorers if not in the Careers will be targeted, low scores inside of the Careers will be mocked. Low scores won't get sponsors. High scores will. 11's and 12's are almost never given out. They make the Tribute a target and will be taken out much quicker, even if they are a Career. And outside of the Careers? They will be hunted to the ends of the earth._

Drusus's voice cuts through the television. He has just been given the scores. They come on a piece of paper with tape stuck over each score. They are to be peeled off one by one. The room is alight with anticipation and Bastion feels his stomach squirm. Everyone will be looking to him after tonight.

"And for our first Tribute, from District 1, Ace Platinum with a score of, nine." The live crowd can be heard applauding the background of a picture of Ace is displayed with the number nine flashing overtop of him.

"How hard was it for you to judge your own boy?" Isaiah asks. Bastion had almost forgotten that the man was in the room with them.

"Extremely. Ziva did most of the work on him. And Weiss coming up," Bastion admits. Flashing a troubled smile in Ziva's direction. She smiles softly back. The smile does not reach her eyes either.

As if Aetius could hear their conversation and moves on. "Next up, from District 1, Weiss Forge, with a score of, nine also." In her picture she is glaring at the camera, Bastion wonders if she has ever smiled.

Bastion feels his stomach squirm at the next two Tributes coming up. He made the final decisions on these two after Ziva had left. He does not know what kind of reaction he will get from her.

"From District 2, Nathaniel Mattingly, with a score of, ten." Nates teeth gleam in his photo as if already knowing the high score that he has received.

Bastion looks over at the President, she does not seem concerned by this score. "Nate's a favorite to win," Aya informs them. His betting pool will only skyrocket.

"From District 2, Cassia Slander, with a score of…" when Drusus removes the tape over this Tributes name his eyebrows shoot up as if they were trying to escape his forehead. He swallows, scarcely believing his voice. "With a score of twelve." The audience can be heard going crazy in the background.

Ziva turns down the television slightly, looking over to Bastion. "Why did you decide that?" She asks him curiously.

"Because now she has the biggest target of The Games on her back."

Drusus tries to calm down the crowd. It is the first 12 that has been given in an unforeseeable amount of years. Bastion has never even seen the number on screen before. Neither has Ziva or any of them.

"From District 3, Callum Lennon, with a score of seven." The crowd is quieted after Cassisa's score, but there is a low thrum of surprise at the high score for the Tribute. Bastion smiles, remembering his impressive show with the flames.

"From District 3, Talia Lancaster, with a score of six." Her face looks timid even in the picture that appears with her number. But there is a certain beauty in it, she may still have some Sponsors attention. Talia and Callum will make a formidable team inside of the Games. They just need to stay out of the others attention. Then again no one will be able to fly under the radar for too long inside of the Games.

"From District 4, Blake Calloun, with a score of..." Drusus's face drops in shock. Doing a double take of the paper he even moves it closer to his face, squinting, as if he cannot believe his eyes. Bastions eyes meet Ziva's and they share a smile, there was no debate over which score this Tribute was getting.

"A score of," Drusus struggles to say the score, shaking from shock. "With a score of zero." He finally spits out. He goes quiet afterward and a silence sits heavy on the live crowd's shoulders. No one knows what to think. It is the first time that this score has been given out in over a century. Bastion checked the records. He smiles at the thought of Blake watching that score around his mentors. The shocked looks. Bastion bets he was hoping for the twelve.

"What did he do?" Anya asks, her voice full of shock.

Bastion looks over to Ziva, wondering if he should reveal the session. It's not really his story to tell. Though he rubs his arm absentmindedly. He hit it against the chair quite hard during his dive. There is a dark bruise hidden underneath a white dress shirt. Ziva nods, giving him permission to tell the others. "He threw a dagger right at Ziva," Bastion explains.

Isaiah jumps out of his seat in alarm. "He did what?" He says, his voice full of a low rage. It's as deep as a dogs growl. He looks like he is ready to storm out of the room there and then to take on this future Tribute. Something tells Bastion that no punishment for the act would deter him. Respect courses through Bastions veins at how loyal Isaiah is to Ziva.

"Don't worry, the other Careers will take care of him," Bastion tells him. Trying to calm him down. His mind flashes back to the girl from District 2's brother. He does not want another execution. Especially to a man that he has started to enjoy the company of.

Isaiah growls as he sits back into his chair, his gaze looks like it could kill Blake then and there. "You should be proud of Bastion, Isaiah, he jumped in the way. Without the forcefield, he would be dead and I would still be alive," Ziva has admiration in her voice as she talks about Bastion.

Bastions ears pink and tugs at the hair at the back of his neck in embarrassment. He feels a push to his ribs. Looking over Coraline is staring into his eyes. _You did that?_ She asks with her hands. He nods back.

She looks at him, her eyes brimming with love. _I love you so much_ she mimes to him. "I love you too," he whispers, leaning right down to her ear his lips tickle her neck slightly. She shivers from the contact. Bastion grasps one of her hands in his. He leans in and kisses her cheek softly, afraid to do more.

"I used to be jealous of couples, till I found out how dangerous it was to be in love." Isaiah jokes, his eyes still troubled. They all laugh at that, the tension breaking. But its a jolt back to reality. Both couples inside of this room are risking everything to be with each other. It's a bond that connects them all despite their background. The two from the Districts and the two from the Capitol. None of that matters.

Ziva unpauses the television, and Drusus's voice fills the room once again. "From District 4, Carolyn Aquana, with a score of, ten." There is a small sigh of relief now the calling is back to normal. There will be more surprises, but the worst is over. Bastion wonders which Tribute is going to make it out of the Games this year. With all of the differences between them, it really could go to anyone. Well, almost anyone.

"From District 5, Oliver Apollo, with a score of eight." The boy's face appears, he looks strong and handsome. He could almost be a Career.

"He's attractive," Isaiah notes, Ziva laughs at him.

"Look but don't touch," she jokes.

"All I do is look," Isaiah replies. Ziva nods along. Bastion looks at the two of them in confusion but before he can say anything the next Tribute is being called.

"From District 5, Caroline Hollyhock, with a score of, five." Bastion goes strangely quiet when her name is called and he tenses up. Coraline notices his change in posture and looks at him in a confused manner. He just shakes his head, it is not his secret to share. Though he will be forced to if she does not reveal it tomorrow night.

Tomorrow night. The interviews. Bastion will be sitting front row and center to them. While they are not his official domain he is expected to oversee the crews and make sure that it all goes as smoothly as possible. He also needs to figure out what kinds of questions he wants to be asked. The Head Gamemaker decides the 'flavor' of the Games and the interviews hold a lot of power in that. _Romance, confessions, and violence are what the audience eats up the most_ , Pax's words echo to him again.

"From District 6, Jerry Kapper, with a score of, eight." The young boy gets a much higher score than anticipated by many and Bastion feels proud of what he has achieved. He showed some surprises at his session. His lanky frame looks slightly awkward in his picture, but his eyes are bright.

"From District 6, Esme Layton, with a score of seven." The score is not too bad, but it's not quite what the Careers will be looking for as one of their own. It will put her on the back foot. Then again, she did do better than Blake. It would be interesting to see the reactions in that apartment as well. The non-Career outdoing the one who managed to wriggle their way into the pack.

"She was practically suicidal," Ziva notes as the girls face appears on the screen. Bastion nods along, something about that girl unsettles him. The way she seems to have no fear. The way she didn't care at all when her hand slipped. Or even if she removed it herself. She will be like light like gasoline in the Game, leaving others burning in her wake, but she will burn out if she is not careful.

Bastions mind goes back to her Reaping and the boy that rushed onstage to try and stop her from being taken away. He wonders if the boy knows this fire inside of her if he has seen in burn out before. Something tells Bastion that he has. It takes a lot to risk the wrath of the Peacekeepers and he certainly knew what he was getting himself into when he rushed to the stage.

"From District 7, Nirvana Ivanov, with a score of..." Drusus's eyes go wide once more. Bastion almost feels bad for the shock that he is going through. "A score of eleven." Elevens are only a fraction more common than twelves, there will be some upset Gamemakers about how Bastion has thrown these numbers around.

But Bastion does not mind, he has an excuse, he is only a _Tribute_ after all. And this position is not expected to last him into the new year. "Why did he get the eleven?" Ziva asks Bastion, not impressed at all at that boy's behavior. They joked about him as they went over the scores. He was very polarising in the Gamemakers opinion, the numbers were either extremely high or extremely low. But no one put one this high.

Bastion echos Pax's words, "so he will be targeted." He states bluntly, not at all interested in sugar coating the truth. Isaiah laughs.

"I don't even want to know what he did, you two certainly had an interesting day." He says, still grinning at Bastions reply. Bastion laughs back. After a quick chat to one of the interns at the Gamemaker offices just before leaving, he learned the Private Sessions are never usually this interesting. The intern thinks that there is going to be something different about these Games, it leaves a foreboding note to Bastion.

"From District 7, Willow Ashes, with a score of, eight." Bastion felt extremely impressed at her session, though he is still not quite sure why. Something about the way she was so controlled and did not always go for the most obvious place. But the brutality she showed without blinking an eye. He knows that she has allied with her District Partner. Bastion is not sure if that will turn out in her favor or not. They will certainly make a tricky pair to hunt down.

"From District 8, Weft Loomis, with a score of…2." Bastion sighs, they have gotten to the point where the weak Tributes have started to show. Usually, it happens sooner, but this year has been special in so many ways. Bastion was just not that impressed in the way the boy talked to explain himself, actions mean a lot more than words in Bastions mind. The other Gamemakers agreed.

"From District 8, Violet Mercury, with a score of 4." She would have done better if she had cut her session short, then she may not have left in tears. Her image is pulled to the forefront of Bastions mind as he thinks of her crying face as the elevator doors closed. Bastion wishes that something could be done, some more help could be given to those who struggled. But that is not how these Games are designed.

"From District 9, Cole Rockweld, with a score of, seven." Bastion knows that the younger boys have started a bit of a pack of their own. He had not taken it too seriously, but the scores show that they could have a chance. As long as they don't get too confident. Then again, there can only be one Victor. If they came up against the Careers hey would get taken out, but maybe if they picked them off one by one... Bastions mind wanders to the possibilities for these outliers. It will certainly make the Games that much more interesting.

"From District 9, Kalisa Stone, with a score of, nine." It's as high as some of the Careers. Ziva looks at Bastion approvingly, they discussed her in length.

"She's pretty attractive too," Isaiah states out of the blue. As if speaking to himself as much as anyone else. Ziva throws a pillow at him. He lets it hit his chest, its impact not strong enough to knock over a pot plant.

"From District 10, Trafalgar Zaun, with a score of… two." Bastion still finds himself annoyed at this Tributes Private Session. Yet not annoyed enough to give them an impossibly high score. The Tribute's arrogance was their downfall, or maybe they were just hoping for a really good first impression. Whatever the case it backfired, at least now they can go under the radar. Playing their low score to their advantage. Bastion thinks they are intelligent enough to see the good in it.

"From District 10, Eva Brath, with a score of three." Bastion just feels sympathy when he looks at this Tribute. Looking at Coraline he can tell that she feels the same way. Shes impossibly small and frail, it seems cruel to put her up against the others. Like Violet she seems nervous in her picture that is displayed, not smiling like the rest but not glaring either. It's a melancholy look that makes her not stand with any real impression on the viewer.

But the Games are cruel. Any single person inside of the Districts would tell you that, and maybe even a handful inside of the Capitol. His eyes fall on Ziva.

"From District 11, Harvest Kohl, with a score of five." The boy's score is not too bad, but he did not impress as much as he intended in his session. The fact he got distracted by the water amused Bastion, but it did not bode well for the Tribute inside of the Games. The expression of joy on his face when he paddled and floated about in the water comes back to Bastion. At least he had a good time, that's more than a few of the other Tributes.

"From District 11, Poppy Northrop, with a score of seven." Ziva looks up and smiles at Bastion at that score. They both know how truly valuable she will be inside of the Games. Harvest does not realize how lucky he is with an alliance secure. Bastion wonders why none of the other Tributes seem to find value in the medical station, maybe they assume if they are injured there will be no coming back from it. In his Games, everyone he caught was killed. Not one got away. Bastion hangs his head, partially in shame, partially so no one can see the conflicted expression on his face.

Isaiah opens his mouth, Ziva sees it in the corner of her eye. "She's fifteen," Ziva informs him. Expecting what he is going to say. He closes his mouth again, taking a moment to think. He looks annoyed for a moment.

"That wasn't what I was going to say," he informs Ziva. "I was going to as to how she scored a seven." Her picture is showing now, she does not look like the kind of Tribute to score high. With her slim frame and large eyes. She looks almost frightened. Ziva looks slightly sheepish. An expression Bastion never thought that he would ever see on her.

"She's got a talent for medical," Ziva explains, frowning as she notices Bastions dropped expression. She wonders what could be wrong with him, for as far as she has seen these scores have been a large success.

Isaiah nods at her information. "That almost got you killed didn't it? Lack of medical knowledge." Isiah directs this question to Bastion. He looks up, surprised at how casually Isaiah mentions his Games. It only haunts him in his nightmares these days.

"Yeah," he replies simply. Not wanting to get into details. He can almost feel the glass eye he was given rolling around in its socket. A phantom movement, the eye can't move, despite what the surgeons wanted to design him. They wanted to implant another eye into the socket, they even found a Capitol resident with a similar color to volunteer. But Bastion could not accept, the idea of someone else's eye inside of his own socket made him feel sick to his stomach. Even sicker when he realized someone would volunteer to lose theirs just to boast that that year's Victor now walks around with it.

"From District 12, Flint Fraser, with a score of eight." Bastion smiles despite himself at the high score. Bastion hopes in his heart that Flint will be able to get away from the Bloodbath, he might do okay with his alliance if he is careful.

"You have a soft spot for him, don't you?" Anya asks, noticing his expression.

"I shouldn't," Bastion replies his tone ends the conversation. Ace and Flint are both boys that he should not care for, yet despite himself, he does just that. He knows how badly that will reflect inside of the Games. He can't let his emotions get the better of him. He may have to talk to Ziva about it.

"From District 12, Pricilla Winters, with a score of three." With that, the scores are all announced and Drusus quickly turns to his co-commentator. Speculating about how the Tributes all got their scores. Cassia, Nirvana and Blake's names are on the tip of everyone's tongue.

They watch the programme for a while longer, speculation hanging heavy in the air. The Private Sessions are supposed to remain just that, private. The Capitol will fabricate answers and pretend they know. But the Gamemakers are sworn to secrecy. Anyone spilling information will be committing treason against Panem. They all know what that means.

Ziva goes to turn off of the television, but then something unexpected happens. Drusus says goodbye to his co-announcer. Apologizing to the viewers that the discussion has been cut short he says he has a special interview to show.

Bastions blood runs cold when he realizes who is being interviewed. He does not need to see the face. There is only one person who they would interrupt the programming for. His hands start to shake at what could happen, this is a man working off of spite and vengeance. He would say anything to try and ruin the person who caused that. Or the person who replaced him.

Ziva does not seem to realize until he can be seen on screen, her crimson gift glimmering on his desk in the background as Aetius's face stares right back at hers.


	32. Domino Effect

**Ziva Crimson, 27, The Capitol.**

Ziva stares in horror at Aetius's face as it glimmers on the screen. Immediately, the room is filled with tension. Isaiah told her that it would be a bad idea to let Aetius join the Peacekeepers, but she remembered the years that they had shared together.

She let her personal feelings for the man she still held a grudging respect for. She could see where his motivations come from, even if she does not agree with them. She never thought that he would go behind her back like this. But she should of. He's been going behind her back since these Games began. She watches as Aetius reveals why he was fired. Showing the girl from District 2's goodbyes.

"I've cut the feed of this broadcast to the Training Center, they won't see anything more. They would have just caught this." Isaiah informs her. He had contacted the security team there, they simply pulled the cord out for television reception. It will be a pain to fix, but the Tributes have seen the scores so nothing will need to be done for this generation of Tributes.

Ziva feels a wave of admiration for him. While she was frozen he has been doing damage control. Highly important control at that. Who knows what would happen if the Tributes found out what Aetius is about to spill. It could ruin everything.

Aetius then explains how she stopped the selling of the Victors. Getting an even larger reaction from the audience. This is one thing that about her presidency she has no regrets on. At the time she made excuses about the Victors being unstable, faking an attack on a 'Capitol resident' to eventually stop it. Calling it too dangerous. The Victors felt some blowback after that, but they were all more grateful to be free of the services.

Isaiah yells in the background, he has been trying to get the footage to be taken off the air but the phone lines have been cut to the broadcasting center. He frantically phones associates of his, but everyone is at home. Watching the interviews unfold. Even the security teams he has contacts in are out of the area. From what he can gather this is only playing on the Capitol broadcast.

Ziva is frantically thinking. It will come down to Aetius's word against hers. She's not sure who the Capitol will have more trust for. He then nails her coffin, showing the piece of paper that she gave him the morning of the reapings. It's the list of Tributes names she planted. He explains what it means, the rigging.

It feels like a bomb has gone off inside of Ziva's mind. Dizziness courses through her and she hears a buzzing in her ears louder than she has ever experienced before. The world seems to rolls in waves and she knows that Anya is trying to talk to her but she doesn't connect her words with reality.

Aetius's voice manages to get to her again. Dropping the final bombshell that no one was supposed to know. He talks about Anya. Outing their relationship to all of the Capitol. Ziva sees Anya's face drop in shock. Then redden when he explains how he knew. They both remember that night well.

The interview shuts off. The silence of the mansion is almost unnatural. The damage control that needs to be done for all of this is monumental. Her mind spins faster than when she found out that her parents were in the car accident.

She thinks out loud. "We can disprove the Victor statement with the evidence we made years ago about the attack." She tackles each problem one at a time. It's much easier for her to sort lots of little problems in her mind then one big one. One monumental one.

"He can't prove I fired him for releasing the girl from two's tape. We can just claim he is fabricating evidence and continue to refuse to answer the real reason why. These people love to gossip, no answer is better to them." She thinks out loud, she can feel her palms starting to sweat.

"Rewind the show," she commands to no one in particular. Anya does it, picking up the remote. "Pause it on the list." Anya does as she is told. Ziva finds something in this impossible mess to incite hope when she focuses on the letters spelled out.

In her sleep deprived state just before the reapings, the letters blurred together. She was so sure she got it perfect. But she was wrong. "That Tributes name is spelled incorrectly," she points to the name. "We can hold that against him, I have never made a spelling mistake before. Its an inconsistency in his story." If she wasn't so concerned she would be smiling right now.

"What are you going to do about _us_?" Aya asks, a tremor in her voice. Ziva looks over to the woman who has her heart.

Aya looks at her, wrapping her a hug they both tremble. "I need a cover and fast. We need to come up with someone that I would hide a relationship with. Then tonight or tomorrow we can leak the information. Yes, it will look suspicious, but they will buy it. They always do."

Apart from Ziva's shaking frame, it is hard to tell that she is struggling. Puzzling through problems has always been something she's had a talent for. Isaiah cuts in, running his hands through his hair a kind of gel gets stuck to his skin. He wipes it subconsciously on his pants.

"What do you want to be done with Aetius?" He asks, his voice even lower than usual.

Ziva stops in her tracks. "It's going to look weak if he is executed right now like I am trying to bury the truth. Arrest him and have him thrown in a maximum security cell. I want him at your headquarters. He will be executed the moment the Games finish." Her voice is hard, he has betrayed her for the last time. She will make sure of that. "I want him under 24/7 guard. No one gets in or out." Isaiah nods, barking back into his phone.

Ziva gets back to her train of thoughts. She needs to think of someone acceptable. "None of the Capitol residences will work." She thinks out loud, not only would she not have to hide that relationship, but she would also not trust any of them to keep their mouth shut.

"What about me?" Bastion asks in a strained voice. He talks for the first time since the interview was played.

"What about you?" Ziva replies, clearly not catching what he is trying to say. Anya lets out a strangled breath beside her.

"Would I work?" Bastion says. Ziva finally understands. And what he is giving up to make that offer. She thinks it over, it certainly would be easy to claim a relationship with the Victor. Especially after today.

"No, it's not appropriate for us to be involved. You would have to resign from your duties and I can't replace another Gamemaker. It would also create a new backlash, they would say you only got your position because of it."

Bastion nods. A dark expression on his voice as he thinks it all through. "What about him?" He asks, nodding to where Isaiah stands on the phone.

Ziva thinks it over for a long moment. But she couldn't do that to Isaiah. "The same issue, he would have to resign and I need people that I can trust right now more than ever," Ziva states, letting out a breath that she didn't realize she was holding.

But that does get her mind spinning. There are very few people born inside the Capitol that she can trust, all of them stand in this room. So, she will again have to turn to someone inside the Districts. Most of the Victors are married or have relations inside of the Districts and it wouldn't matter if she was involved with most of them.

There's only one name that comes to mind.

"I need to go," she says abruptly. Anya looks up fearfully at her. "I have someone in mind but I need to go now." She takes Anya's hands in hers and embraces the other woman. Getting close she whispers in her ear, "I need you to fill Bastion in on _everything_." Anya looks at her in surprise. "We can trust him." She says confidently before starting to pull away.

Their arms drop from each other before Ziva leans in, caressing her lips against Anya's she no longer cares what others are in the room too. She just wants to be lost in this moment forever. But she can't be.

The two women break from each other and Ziva allows herself a moment of sadness. But it is only that. There is so much she needs to do. She looks over to Isaiah. "I need you to contact the right people saying what I just told you. Everyone else help him if he can't remember my answers." She is no longer a frantic woman, she is the President. Her voice has the authority that commands a nation.

They all nod as Ziva turns on her feet, marching out of the door she does not look back. It takes her eyes awhile to adjust to the sudden darkness of the night. The cool air bites at her hot face and the silence causes more ringing in her ears. But she marches onward. The building she needs to get to is close by, and she has done this walk before.

 **Aetius Valter, 54, The Capitol.**

He stands in the bathroom of the house he was placed in by The President. The interview was a success, playing the full length he smiles at the strings he was able to pull to get the phone lines down at the center. Not that it would matter. It was being streamed to the Capitols channel by several different sources. If the broadcasting center was shut off it would still play.

He knows what this success means for himself. But he no longer cares. He has gotten his revenge and the satisfaction of that flows through him like liquid novocaine. Splashing cold water on his face he stares around at the white tiles of the room. He looks at his reflection in one again, only the bags under his eyes portray what he has been through since the Games began.

Without them, he could be the same as the morning the President first left that list on his table. He was planning on heading out that morning, to go to the Center and catch up with the other Gamemakers. But then he saw a flash of dark hair at the edge of his vision. It was the President.

He knew that she would have left him something. So, he walked back into his home office. There on his desk. The names of the Tributes that she wanted to be planted. Fewer names than usual. Its standard procedure when a member of the Districts is getting out of line to reap their children. It squashes hope.

He leans his body against a tiled wall, it's cold exterior seeps right into his bones. Goosebumps start to break out over his skin. The bulky object in his pack pocket is uncomfortable in this position. He does not mind, savoring the feeling of the object. Savoring the feeling of anything.

He looks down, staring at his hands. He never really had an appreciation for the large body parts that he used his whole life. They enabled him to do everything that he has achieved. He watches the moving muscles with interest as he crooks his fingers.

He tries to mimic as many motions as he can, grasping his hand into a fist then spreading them out again. Seeing which fingers he can bend down and which others move down automatically with them. He bends his middle finger and struggles to stretch his ring finger back up again. He can feel the muscle stretching but cannot straighten it.

He studies the formation of his nails, how some are larger than others and the white patches that appear where they join at the end to his finger. He has never known what they are called or why they are there. He never will. He feels admiration, these hands have allowed him to achieve so much. And have allowed it to all come crumbling it back down again.

His eyes find the small scar on his left hand, the scar is situated just below where his thumb joins to his hand. It was not a deep wound that inflicted it. His partner at the time had nicked him with her nail when she was in a rush to leave his grasp. He didn't blame her for it. He knew that she had sharp nails. That was the same partner who gave him his son.

The boy is now his own man, working on some offshoot of the Capitol he could have had anything he ever wanted. Instead, he gave it all up for a girl. She was from one of the least wealthy families, it would not have been appropriate for him to marry her. Not with Aetius as a senior Gamemaker, it was the year before his promotion to head.

His son decided to give it all up. Aetius has not seen his son since that day he walked off. Regret courses through him. It's almost impossible the extent that we will go for love, and to get revenge on those who have hurt us through it.

Aetius feels his body slipping down the wall, without trying to stop it he sharply hits the tiled floor. The object in his pocket causes pain when he lands. It digs into his hip. He goes back to staring at his hands, letting his eyes unfocus they are blurs in front of him.

Aetius had so much pride in his appearance, in the name he made for himself, in the way he would make heads turn. But what is all that now? He may as well of be some low life like his son now is. Because in these moments it does not matter who he was.

He takes the object out of his back pocket, it glimmers in the harsh bathroom lights. Aetius's eyes are still unfocused so he can just make out the metallic shape. He understands why they never let these in the arena. It would end the Games so quick.

In his unfocused state, he barely hears the pounding on his door. "This is the Peacekeepers. Open up!" The voice calls. But it sounds like it is coming from another world entirely. "You won't get a second chance, open up!" The voice cries again.

Aetius is no longer listening to it. Instead, he has moved the metallic object. It now points rests on the side of his head. It's cold, but Aetius is already shivering. He can vaguely hear a crash from the other room. They must of broken the door he thinks to himself distantly.

There is another locked door between them and him so he has another moment or two. In it, he thinks about the first time he met the President. Just a toddler her father brought her to the Training Center. Aetius was a low Gamemaker then, if he is remembering correctly he had just got out of his internship. He earned the position by suggesting a the finale of the Games, it was a huge success.

That was the first moment Aetius truly felt pride in himself. He watched the President grow older, her beauty becoming more are more defined as she grew. But that wasn't what attracted Aetius to her so much, it was the smile that was always on her face. A glow for life Aetius had never seen before. Then her parents died and it all changed.

She no longer smiled so much. Instead, she took on a distant look as she ruled Panem. But with it came a mysterious Aetius just couldn't keep himself away from. When she chose Aetius to be her new Head Gamemaker he foolishly thought it meant something more.

That thought has been embedded into his mind for the past seven years. Of course, he had flings, enough to keep the attention off and the rumors away. But he was always waiting. After her gift last year he was ready to make this his final Games. It would not have been appropriate for anything to happen while he was still Head Gamemaker. He was lost in this fantasy. He had even already written his letter of resignation. Suggesting that his second, Maverick should replace him in the position.

Then that fateful night had happened. When he had seen what was in front of his nose the whole time. The President didn't want him. She wanted another woman. The need for vengeance has driven Aetius partially to madness. Seven years he spent waiting for her, loving her. And she never wanted him all along.

When the bathroom door is burst open, from the outside in. Aetius takes one last look at the world. Her face is what he envisions, he only wants to feel the love in his last moments. He slowly squeezes the trigger for the object in his hand. Taking one last breath.

The chamber makes an empty clicking noise.

 **Bastion Steele, 19, District 1.**

When Anya has finished explaining the plan to Bastion the man can only stare wide-eyed at her. Isaiah finished his calls and typed out his emails to the networks a little bit ago. He adds information when Anya struggles and forgets details. Isaiah never misses a beat.

"So, you're telling me that me and Coraline can get out of here with you?" It is more than Bastion ever believed possible. Reality does not seem real to him anymore.

"Essentially, yes," Anya replies, but she does not smile. They all know how monumental this mission will be to pull off. They haven't even sorted all of the details yet. "It will most likely have to be at the final eight, we don't have time for anything sooner and the Tributes always get a day slack while the interviews are being shown."

"But it may not work." Isaiah states. Always the bringer of good news. "If you agree to this you risk losing everything," his eyes fall to where Coraline sits next to Bastion.

"If we don't do this I already do, we're in." Bastion replies, Coraline nods alongside him. They are ready to take on this challenge.

"There's a party here tomorrow night. To celebrate the interviews on the eve of the Games. Come to it, we will talk more then." Anya says, a yawn accompanies the end of her words and she looks nervously toward the door.

"She's not going to return before morning," Isaiah tells her. His voice even. Bastion wonders how he can be calm when the woman that he has been sworn to protect is wandering the streets on a night such as this. "She's planting the rumor, that will require an overnight stay." He explains Anya's face falls.

Bastion can't help but yawn. He has been up for almost two days straight and his body is starting to shut down on him. Coraline yawns beside him, covering her mouth with her hand. Anya notices their droopy eyes.

"Feel free to stay here," she tells them. "I'll show you to a spare room." They start to get up, stretching out limbs they are heavy from sleepiness. Bastion remembers to thank Isaiah, the man nods back. His phone has started vibrating in his pocket.

Anya leads them to a lush bedroom, even larger than the one in their accommodation the two collapse into bed. Not bothering to remove any layers they fall asleep almost instantly despite all that is going through their minds.

Anya closes the door behind her as she leaves the room. Her heart heavy about what is to come and those she has dragged along with her.

 **Ziva Crimson, 27, The Capitol.**

She pulls her hood to cover her face just as she enters the Training Center. It was only last night that she was here recruiting Bastion. Now she is here again. She hopes that Anya has managed to convince Bastion to help. But really she knows Bastion needs no convincing. They are giving him an offer that he can't refuse.

She carefully flashes the side of her face to those at the front desk. Pretending not to notice their raised eyebrows as she marches into the elevator. This will only work if they think she doesn't know she was seen. Last night's trip will be an advantage for her too. No one knows what floor she went to.

She pushes the button on the elevator, taking deep breaths as she shoots into the air she is brought back to when she did the same thing yesterday. It's almost suicidal to put so much trust in Bastion after only just one day. But she knows that he will be loyal and she needs all the help that she can get right now. Something about him is just trustworthy to her. She can't specifically say why or how. But she knows she trusts him with all her confidence. She hopes it is better placed this time around.

The elevator doors open and she is met with an identical sight. She opens the door into this Tribute compartment. Praying that her plan is successful. She assumes that the layout of this compartment is the same as the last so sticks to the shadows, not wanting to be spotted. But no Avox's are awake at this time of night.

Ziva realizes she is lucky that the Tributes have not wanted to stay up late. She assumes that their mentor encouraged them to get a good night's sleep before the interviews tomorrow. She doubts any but the Careers will be well rested. And with some of their scores, she's not even too sure on that.

She tests a door that light seeps out of at the bottom, taking a deep breath the door swings open soundlessly. She only takes a moment to survey the area. The Victor is sitting with his head down on a chair in the corner of the room. In front of him are pieces of paper. They look like pads he has ripped out of a notebook.

Tiptoeing her way over Ziva sees each page is lined with a Tributes name as well as the score they received tonight. He has also made notes about who seems the strongest and weakest of the bunch. His handwriting is surprisingly neat. Ziva's not sure why but this catches her off guard. But from such a harsh looking Victor she expected handwriting to match.

Ziva takes a deep breath before taking another step closer to the man. She tries to wake him with loud steps but the carpeted floor muffles all sound. She doesn't want to risk ruining his notes by standing on one.

So, she grabs a muscular shoulder and shakes it gently.

The result is instantaneous.

The Victor bolts out of the chair he is sitting in. Before he can even process who is in front of him or what they want he has thrown his body forward. Grabbing the figure the Victor pins them to the ground, grabbing their wrists in his hands he crushes their slim body underneath his bulk.

Ziva is caught off guard completely, she splutters for air as the Victor crushes her. His eyes are still wild and unfocused as his body is pressed on top of hers. She waits patiently, desperately sucking in air for the man to return to himself again.

It's like flicking a switch.

The man looks down at her in confusion as she stares back up. Right into the eye of Adair Nicanor, District 12's mentor. His most noticeable feature is his scar. Running from forehead to chin, over his left eye which is cloudy. He has a handsome face, but the scar overpowers that for most.

He moves his body off of hers slowly, confusion hangs over him like a cloud. Ziva sucks in air when he takes the pressure off her chest. Wishing that she had just made a noise with the paper. But maybe the same outcome would have occurred anyway. She keeps forgetting how different Victors are to the Capitol residents she is used to.

"What do you want?" He asks her, his voice is deep and rough. Ziva is reminded of a bear when she looks at him.

"I'm sure you noticed when the broadcast got cut off tonight," she starts. Her voice still raspy. Adair nods, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallows.

"Well, Aetius continued on and accused me of having a relationship with a woman, my best friend Anya as well as other things. I'm doing damage control now," Ziva's voice goes distant. Hearing herself explain the situation out loud is jarring.

"So, where do I fit into this?" Adair asks, his eyebrows furrowing.

"I need a romantic interest that the Capital can eat up. To stop rumors surrounding Anya. But it needs to be someone I wouldn't have disclosed. You happen to fit that brief perfectly," she leaves other information unsaid. How she has no trust for those in the Capitol.

"What's in this for me? Adair questions again. Ziva is not surprised by this question. She knows that the Victors do not buy into the prestige, they no longer fear death, so they no longer fear any punishment Ziva could bring.

"I can get you out of here," Ziva says.

"How?" Adair asks.

"It's a long story, but if you agree it can be explained at my mansion tomorrow night." Ziva knows she is not answering what he wants to hear. But she's too tired and upset to unload the whole plan. It's mostly Isaiah's handiwork anyway. He should be the one to tell.

Adair takes a long look at Ziva's face. She knows that she must look a mess, with smudges backup and messy hair she can't even remember what she is wearing. Something far too casual for a President.

"Okay, I'm in," Adair tells her, his voice not portraying any emotion. "What do we do now?"

Ziva did not truly know if she would get this far with Adair and now looks a little lost.

"Well, we need to make them think we are in a relationship, right?" Adair asks, humor creeping into his voice.

"That's right," Ziva replies. Still lost for words.

Adair sighs deeply as he collects his notes from off of the floor and around him. He stacks them neatly back on his chair. Placing the pen he was using for them on top he walks over to the large bed. In a beat he undresses, taking off his shirt and baggy track pants he gets under the sheets in a long pair of boxer briefs.

Ziva looks shocked for a moment before she realizes she needs to do the same. With a thought back to Anya she removes the jeans and boots that she was wearing and gets into the bed from the opposite side. Her posture is rigid and unnatural, clearly uncomfortable.

Adair claps his hands twice and all of the lights in the room go off, plunging the two bodies into darkness. "You need to be closer to me," Adair tells the darkness.

"What?"

"If we just had sex we need to be a lot closer," Adair explains. Ziva's cheeks blush and she is glad the lights are off. She shuffles her body over in the darkness until she bumps into Adair. She jumps in fright.

Adair sighs again, wrapping a muscular arm around her back he wriggles closer. He feels Ziva tense up as hard as a plank beside him. "I'm sorry, I'm not used to this," she tells him. She was a lot more comfortable solving the other problems Aetius left her with.

"Sex?" Adair asks, he smirks at the discomfort of Ziva.

"No, men," she replies. It takes him off guard and he bursts into a deep rumble of laughter. It bounces around the room, starting to chip its way through the tension.

"So what's the plan anyway, how will they know you spent the night here?" He asks, a yawn creeping into his voice. Ziva only notices how tired she is then. Exhaustion pulls at her eyelids and tugs at heart.

"They saw me come in here and I made sure to look into the camera in the elevator and the hallway. When I don't return by morning they'll wonder what has happened and most likely send their security team up. I hope you don't mind getting woken up by someone else again." This time Adair laughs sheepishly.

"I'm sorry about that," he tells Ziva. She can hear the sincerity in his voice.

"It's fine," she tells him, her voice slurring with exhaustion. They stop talking after that. Despite herself, Ziva uses Adair's arm as a pillow he chuckles in the darkness. But sleep pulls at his mind too and before they know it they are both fast asleep. Forgetting instantaneously what their morning wake up call will be.


	33. Fame and Confessions (INTERVIEWS)

**Bastion Steele, 19, District 1.**

Bastion gets one of the best seats in the house. But it is not where he expected. He figured he would be sitting right at the front of the stage, almost touching distance to the Tributes. Instead, he sits elevated. In the center of the room, a glass box protrudes from the ceiling. He does not want to even think about how the architect managed this feat.

He sits in it along with the high ranking Gamemakers, key Capital socialites and The President herself. He sits next to her now, her eyes are staring ahead, unfeeling. Her plan worked, the Capitol is not talking about Aetius's rumors. They have been categorized as slander and baseless in the resident's mind. It's almost comical about how quickly their opinions can change.

Now, all they are talking about are the rumors starting to spread like wildfire surrounding The President and the District 12 mentor. Bastion got a quick word in with The President before the others started to arrive, Adair will be joining them tonight at the mansion to be filled in on the rapidly growing plan.

Then another person had interrupted them and they were not able to discuss anymore. The rumors around Aetius are what Bastion is particularly curious about. Its being kept top secret. Some say he killed himself, others that the officers sent to arrest him killed him instead, others that he is being held in a maximum-security lockup. All of these could be true, Bastion does not know who to believe. He would only trust information from Ziva herself, or any of the others in on the plan.

Drusus Lionella appears on the stage to an eruption of audience applause. He smiles and waves back, his silver hair gleaming. His deep blue beard is shaved right down, designed in an intricate pattern to resemble crashing waves in an ocean. He wears a suit of the same color to match, with a lemon yellow dress shirt, silver waistcoat and yellow pocket square. The look is striking and eye-catching. Bastion almost feels underdressed.

He banters with the crowd, getting them cracking up before any Tribute has entered the stage. The Tributes sit next to each other on the end of the stage. Weiss Forge will be the first Tribute to be interviewed. But right now she looks calm, practically shimmering in a silver dress that does not leave much at all for the imagination. Bastion wonders what her father thinks about it as it certainly is revealing.

 **Weiss Forge, 18, District 1.**

She pulls it off splendidly, her light blonde hair almost white in the stage lighting. She looks mysterious herself, a jewel of her own District. She is called to the stage and she walks with grace, captivating the audience in her high heels. She looks over for a moment, staring at them she blows a kiss at no one in particulars direction. The crowd goes crazy, grabbing the air for the kiss and sending a plethora back. The Tribute radiates confidence.

Drusus shakes her hand gently, pressing a kiss to her palm he welcomes her to the stage. She beams back at him, revealing two rows of pearl white teeth almost the same color as her shimmering skin. She looks out of this world.

"Well hello Weiss," Drusus greets her gathering another loud applause from the crowd. A rose is thrown up, as pale as snow, Weiss catches it without a second thought. Blowing another kiss in the general direction of the thrower.

Drusus chuckles, "well it seems you already have a few admirers in the Capitol," the crowd cheers into a roar. "Tell me, is there anyone special in your District?" Drusus asks her with a wink.

Weiss lets her cheeks pinken slightly and looks away for the moment. "In all honesty, I haven't really had time for boys," she replies simply, she bites her lip at the end of the sentence causing Drusus's eyebrows to raise as the crowd goes wild in shock.

"Why ever so not? Surely someone like you wouldn't find a hard time catching the attention of a lucky boy or few." Drusus winks at her. Weiss lets her cheeks deepen in blush again, reddening her face. But she does not look embarrassed, it makes her look mysterious and alluring under the lights.

"Well, maybe there was a boy…" She admits, trailing off. The crowd demands to know more, their cries all trying to be louder than each other and causing a combined noise like an earthquakes tremor.

Drusus's face lights up as he calms down the crowd. "Now, could this secrecy have anything to do with your new mentor?" He asks mischievously. The crowd bursts out into laughter as Weiss's father appears on screen, he waves off the camera good-naturedly.

"I guess you'll just have to wait and see," Weiss replies, batting her eyelashes. There's some kind of glitter on them that falls down her face. The camera reflection it makes her glimmer and sparkle. She then gets up, taking Drusus's hand she asks the audience if they would like her to spin in her dress for them.

She is met with a resounding yes and Drusus's stands with her as she raises her arms above her head and spins. The dress shimmers around her, covered in sparkles not yet seen she is a shimmering star as the dress raises higher and higher around her thighs. Exposing even more skin to the audience they cheer and cry.

The buzzer to end her interview can barely be heard because of the roar of the crowd but Drusus notices. Yelling overtop of them he thanks Weiss for her time as he walks her back to the seats. The crowd breaks into cheers once more for this beautiful Tribute.

 **Ace Platinum, 18, District 1.**

Ace walks up to Drusus in a much simpler outfit, yet a matching silver. He wears a white dress shirt with a silver waistcoat overtop. His sleeves are rolled up to the elbows and he wears long silver dress pants with grey boots. His hair is styled like it always it, spiked at the front and out of his eyes. Which gleam an ice blue under the harsh lights.

He gets a rumble of applause as he shakes hands with Drusus, sitting back in his chair with a relaxed manner he looks like he could be sitting down at home for another casual evening. Not on stage in front of the entire Nation.

Drusus welcomes him to the stage and they exchange pleasantries. Ace notes how his suit matches Drusus's hair then Drusus's starts to joke about how Ace could be his son. They stare at the audience with the sides of their heads pressed up together as they ask the audience if they look alike.

The audience loses it with laughter when Drusus tassels Ace's hair like a father would do. Ace pretends to be hurt by the gesture, pouting as he tries to fix the look. The messy hair just makes him look more approachable, almost a younger version of himself as he beams at the audience.

"Now Ace tell me, a young man like yourself, what do you do around your District?" Drusus asks, his voice still with the playful note but there is some interest behind it. The Audience feels it too and soon they are leaning on their seats, anxious not to miss a word out of this Tributes mouth.

"I work at my uncle's jewelry shop," Ace explains to the captivated audience. "Some of you might even be wearing pieces from him now," he smiles, even now Ace wants to help out his family the best he can. Promoting the shops is one way to do it. He then goes on to explain "when I'm not working I'm usually with my girlfriend or best mate mucking about the District." Ace smiles, but he's not smiling at the audience, he smiles back at the Districts. Envisioning his friend's faces.

"I've been known to occasionally work out too," Ace adds. Making it seem like an afterthought. The audience explodes into chatter as ace cheekily flexes his biceps at them, they make the fabric of his shirt so taut it looks like it might burst open. Some women in the audience actually swoon at that and there are a couple of cries from where woman have fallen over.

"May I say one thing?" Ace asks Drusus, an intensity in his gaze Drusus did not expect.

"Certainly," Drusus replies, curious as to what this Tribute has to say.

Ace looks directly into the camera, he pictures beyond it. He pictures the woman he loves watching this from the apartment they share together. "Hey Tiffany, I know you're watching this, I just want you to know I love you I always will. And Prince, look out for her for me mate. Love you too man." Ace chokes up despite his cheery words. He has tried to stay positive.

He smiles as the timer goes off, confidently walking back to his seat he sits back down waving and smiling to the audience. They don't quieten for a while longer. He waits, staring patiently ahead. It's almost impossible to see the single tear that falls down his cheek. Almost.

 **Cassia Slander, 16, District 2.**

There is a collective hush from the audience when Cassia walks up to take her place beside Drusus. As if she has put a spell on the audience that will be broken by the slightest of noise. She wears a deep green dress, it ripples down her body in a silk so soft it feels like it has been sewn from clouds.

It makes her eyes look even brighter than usual. Ocean blue with an even deeper blue rim around them they are like nothing most of the audience has seen before. Her dress screams forest and her eyes scream ocean. Her face screams something else entirely. Instead of been painted in a conventionally _pretty_ way she wears heavy black makeup. It's done in two major black bands, running from her eyes back down to her hairline, streaks run off of it down her cheeks. She looks ready for the Games.

There is a silence when she sits down across from Drusus, she takes his hand with a firm grip. He doesn't try to kiss it, instead, he lets it fall when they break the contact. Cassia sits at the edge of her chair, ready to take off at a moments notice. But it's not a scared flight, its a leap into battle.

Drusus takes a moment to compose himself. It seems that he does not know where to start with this controversial Tribute. "So Cassia," he starts. His voice is soft like he is talking to a dangerous animal.

She looks straight at him, her expression unwavering. "Yes, Drusus?" Her voice is teasing, sensing his uncertainty. It's the voice a boss would use on an employee that they didn't want to deal with. Or was about to ask a stupid question. It gets her a few chuckles from the audience. Drusus's face goes pink.

"Let's start with Training, can you give us a clue about how you scored that 12?" The audience yells in agreement, sitting on the edge of their seats they want to know more about this Tribute who has marked her name in the history books.

"I'm not allowed to talk about the Private Sessions." She stats, gaining disappointed sighed from the audience. Then the audience breaks into curious whispers, glancing at the Gamemakers to see if they will give anything away. They don't. They continue to stare at the Tribute without the slightest expression on their faces.

"You're killing us here," Drusus moans. Just managing to get his blush under control.

"What a shame," Cassia deadpans. There are some chuckles from the other Tributes sitting on the stage and a couple of shocked gasps from the audience at this Tributes tone. The boy from her District, Nathaniel Mattingly bursts into deep laughter.

"So Cassia, there's been a lot of talk about what happened during your Goodbye. Care to shed some more light on it?" Drusus asks, his voice slightly hard.

Cassia inhales a breath too quickly. "No," she says with all the force she can. It's a deep, dark sound. It's not something that should come from a Tribute so beautiful.

Drusus face turns pink again. The buzzer goes off, saving him from further embarrassment. Cassia gets up quickly, walking back to her seat she gazes ahead of her. Above the audience. They are left not knowing what to think.

 **Nathaniel Mattingly 18, District 2.**

Nate walks up to Drusus with a slightly distracted expression. He wears simple black pants that hug his legs tightly. Black boots that go to his ankles and a white dress shirt. Its rolled up on the sleeves, ending half way up his biceps. His tattoo can be clearly seen trailing down his left arm, the snakes tail curling down its way down to his middle finger.

The outfit in itself is pretty forgettable. It's the way that Nate wears it which makes it stand out. The authority that sits on his shoulders radiates off and into the surrounding area. His hair has been cut shorter and is slicked back, there's something about its preciseness that makes something reptilian about the outfit. Cold and calculated.

Nate dwarfs Drusus as the two men shake hands. Nate crush's his hand a bit too harshly and Drusus makes a big point of shaking it out to the audience. Over exaggerating the pain. Or maybe he's not. Maybe Capitol residents are really that soft.

"Welcome to the stage Nate," Drusus greets him. The crowd erupts into applause at the commanding presence that this boy brings. He is the definition of an almost perfect Tribute. He smiles back at them, gleaming his handsome face he waves across. He winks at a particularly interesting woman and she falls back, fainting from the shock of recognition.

"Thanks for having me, I'm glad to be here," Nate replies, his voice even. The distracted look has gone completely from his face. Replaced by a slight smile. He sits back in his chair, pulling one leg over his other one he looks relaxed and confident.

"Let's cut straight to the chase Nate, who do you see as your biggest competition here?" Drusus asks him. Nate laughs, sitting back even further in the chair. He sucks air through his teeth as he wiggles his eyebrows, thinking about how to answer the question. The audience laps it up, laughing at his over exaggerated facial expressions.

"I think anyone can be competition. I respect people like Ace greatly, you can see how much they want it. But ultimately the biggest competition is the people you get close to. Not that I'm too concerned, these Games will go by in the blink of an eye," as if to empathize his point he winks slowly at Drusus before cracking his knuckles. They make loud popping sounds right in the mic and the audience can be seen visibly flinching. Nate smiles at them yet again.

"And is there anyone you see yourself getting attached to?" Drusus teases the audience bursts into laughter and speculation at the turn this conversation is heading.

"I guess you'll just have to wait until the Games to find out," Nate replies cheekily. Just when Drusus opens his mouth to ask another question the buzzer goes off. Signaling the end of their time together.

Nate smiles at the audience as he walks back toward the chairs, an arrogance carefully practiced into his steps. But his smile is elated. He has dreamed of this for his whole life and now it is in front of him. He feels on top of the world.

 **Talia Lancaster, 15, District 3.**

Talia walks to meet Drusus with a tremor to her step. She feels like a fish out of water. It's clear to see she is not used to walking in heels. He fair skin shimmers in the light as her hair falls down her back, the Capitol has lightened it even brighter at the tips, giving the Tribute a bit of Capitol glamour that they eat up.

She wears a bright blue dress that matches her eyes perfectly. The dress bounces as she walks across the stage, slightly disguising the tremors in her walk. She shakes Drusus's hand softly, her hands sweating. He doesn't mind, smiling down at the petite Tribute.

He welcomes Talia to the stage and the audience cheer for the girl. She smiles back, her lip quivers in spasms she cannot control. "Now Talia, what's the biggest difference here between your District and the Capitol?" Drusus asks her, softness to his voice. He is trying to help settle her nerves.

Talia takes a deep breath, trying to settle her nerves her whole body seems to shake. "Probably not knowing anybody. At home, I always had my family or friends to talk to, but now all I have is Callum and they keep separating us." The audience chuckles at this, treating her words as a joke.

"Can you tell us more about your and Callum's relationship?" Drusus asks, his voice dripping with curiosity. A hush falls over the audience, it's uncommon for Tributes to know each other. It adds a flair to the Games.

"Callum's like a brother to me, he's always had my back and protected me, sometimes more so than my actual brothers." The audience laughs as Talia remembers when her brothers pulled a prank on her. Telling her there was treasure hidden in the graveyard near their home. It was her first time being there and she got lost in the bushes surrounding the area.

It was Callum that found her, hearing of their tricks and showed her the way home. That was her first time being in the graveyard, but ever since she returned to it. To paint her pictures and get away from it all.

A hush has fallen over the crowd once she replied, her voice so clear in the emotion of love for the boy who has been placed into the Games with her. By his own choice. By powers beyond their control. It's hard to tell. Even in the Districts, forced actions are described as free will.

The buzzer goes off and Talia walks shakily back to her seat, the crowd giving her a saddened applause as she sits back down. Callum squeezes her hand in his before he starts to walk toward Drusus who has just called his name.

 **Callum Lennon, 18, District 3.**

Callum walks to the stage with a confident expression on his face. His dirty blond hair has been styled back and stuck up in pompadour fashion. Not a strand out of place. He wears a dark blue suit, tailored perfectly to fit his frame large shoulder pads have been sewn into the fabric to make him look larger than he is.

Beneath it, he wears a black dress shirt with bright white dots. At a closer glance the dots connect up and his shirt becomes a map of the stars. Callum smiles as he shakes Drusus's hand. Sitting back into the interview chair his too stiff back is the only clue to show the nerves that he feels.

"Callum, can you tell us what your strategy is going to be in the Games?" Drusus's asks him, a smile plastered onto his face. How strange it must be to interview Tributes year after year and have several die the very next day. An intimate relationship crushed by another Tribute so suddenly. Favorites will be picked tonight.

Callum thinks for a moment, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He wants to answer honestly, but he can't give too much away to the other competitors. The crowd has started to get restless by the time he replies, "hide it out with Talia and wait for the others to kill each other." Is what he ends up going with, the crowd erupts into laughter.

"A fair plan, as we have seen in the past," Drusus praises. He then leans in, right next to Callum and pretends to whisper to him. "But what happens if you and Talia are the final two?" A hush descends against the audience and a few gasps. Callum saw where this was heading, but they did not.

"I would die for her," Callum states simply. His voice sounds more confident than his heart.

"That's very noble of you. Do you think your family back home with that will be okay?" Drusus asks a hush has fallen over the audience.

"I have no family left. My mother and best friend Wren are both dead. Talia's parents have done everything they can for me. They are my family and I'll get their daughter back to them." Tears have started to roll down a few audience members faces at Callum's speech.

The crowd breaks out into heartbroken cries as the buzzer goes off. Callum walks off of the stage with a muddled head. He has to believe that he can die for Talia, otherwise, this is all for nothing.

He looks conflicted as he sits back down on his chair. Talia reaches out a hand for support but he shakes her away. She looks hurt at the gesture but he does not notice. Lost in his own world of thoughts he does not process when the next Tribute is called to the stage.

 **Carolyn Aquana, 17, District 4.**

Carolyn walks up to Drusus with a scowl on her face. No one has seen her smile here yet, no one is going to. Dark makeup accentuates her fierce looks and she wears a navy dress that ripples down to her ankles. It moves like waves when she steps, captivating the audience as she walks.

She grasps Drusus's hand, her face expressionless. He laughs at her expression turning to the audience and asking if he smells back. The audience loses it but Carolyn only frowns, this is not the time for Drusus to steal the show. It is her chance to shine. Maybe shine is the wrong word, it's her time to burn.

"So Carolyn, what do you think sets you apart from the other Tributes inside of these Games?" Drusus asks, there are slight whispers from the audience but Carolyn glares at them. It's so quiet a pin drop could be heard.

"I'm not here to mess around. I'm here to win." She states bluntly. "While the other competitors are getting lost in their own little worlds I'm here. Planning out how to get home." Her voice is filled with so much confidence no one in the audience would question her.

A smirk from her mentor, Alice, is the only thing that would ever say otherwise. Carolyn blocks out the smirk that she sees in the corner of her vision, waiting for Drusus to ask another question. The audience becomes slightly uneasy while he thinks of his next question, overplaying the dramatism of her answer.

"So, there's no chance of you getting attached to your fellow Tributes?" He asks, slight disappointment in his voice. It always makes the most interesting Games when they get attached.

Carolyn's eyebrow twitches, it's such a small movement, not even the cameras picked it up. But she felt it. "None at all, I have everyone I need at home, why get attached to those here?" She answers Drusus's question with another one.

But something about those back home, about her boy with the blond hair. Something makes them seem so impossibly far away. And so _easy._ Carlyn is someone who prides herself on a challenge, the Games will be the biggest challenge of her life. Her mind drifts to another one of the Tributes and the plan that she and Alice went over the other night.

The buzzer goes off and she strides back to her seat, her mind slightly cloudy. She barely notices when Blake gets up, not looking at him. Instead, she stares at a distant point in the audience. Picturing those who she is leaving behind back home. She knows they won't approve of her choices, but the infatuation in her heart does.

 **Blake Calloun, 17, District 4.**

Blake stands up with a confidence to his gate so strong it pulls all the eyes of the Capitol towards him. Smirking, he struts his way up to meet with Drusus. To no one's surprise, well maybe the Capitols, Blakes' chest is bare. It's been oiled up and shimmers under the light. He blows kisses to the women as he walks to Drusus, catching red roses they throw to his grasp.

His pants are tight, almost constricting. A denim blue that complements his flowing blond hair. Which has been stylized for the interview. It looks feminine. But his body offsets that completely, giving him a unique look. Feminine enough to be soft, harsh enough to be a contender. When one Capitol viewer reaches out to try and get Blakes attention he stops in his tracks. Bending down he kisses the hand with butterfly soft lips. It's met with a scream from the Capitol resident.

When Blake finally makes it to Drusus the two men smile at each other, reaching out a hand Blake grips his firmly. Drusus has to dodge out of the way when Blake tries to give him a hug, almost falling off of his chair Drusus makes the excuse that he does not want to get oil on his suit. Blake laughs at that, slapping his chest.

"Why? Do you find something wrong with what I'm wearing?" Blake asks, his teeth gleaming into a smile. He then turns to the audience and does a provocative pose, framing his face with his hands he thrusts his crotch out toward them. He is met with cheers and more roses. "They certainly don't seem to mind," he adds, throwing a wink towards no one in particular.

Drusus seems too shocked to reply. Blake laughs at him, "oh, I get it. You find _this_ ," he thrusts his crotch out again, "too distracting." Blake laughs at the interviewer as the audience bursts into socked applause and screams. Blake beams at them, loving the attention he's getting.

Blake abruptly gets up, walking towards the edge of the stage he addresses the audience, "Who finds _this_ too distracting?" He yells as he blows kisses. There is a cry from the audience, mostly women they stick their hands out to try and touch him.

Smirk winks at the before doing something that his stylist would certainly not approve of. Stepping out of his tight pants he addresses the audience in only a pair of tight boxer briefs. "Like what you see?" He yells before leaning over and touching the hands of the Capitol citizens that have reached out for him.

Roses are thrown over his body as he is met with a resounding roar from the crowd. By the time the buzzer goes off almost all of the oil has been wiped from his chest by the hands of the Capitol. He smiles at them once more, blowing a couple of kisses and even kissing an attractive Capitol woman right on the lips.

She swoons as Blake sits back to the other Tributes on the stage, wiping lipsticks marks off of his mouth he feels on top of the world. Getting a rush once more from the fleeting attention is flexes his bare chest to the audience. Gaining one final round of applause.

 **Caroline Hollyhock, 17, District 5.**

Caroline walks to the stage with a nervousness to her walk not caused by the audience or the show put on before her. But with what she has to announce tonight. She wears a white dress that is a thick material. Overtop she wears a pink cardigan and keeps her arms crossed around her.

Drusus grasps her hand softly, smiling at the Tribute it is clear to see that he is relieved to be past the Tributes with the most attitude. They are putting up a fight for him this year, something he is not used to. But Caroline seems to shake in his hand and he looks sympathetically at the woman. She may be a volunteer, but it is clear to see she is not comfortable on this stage.

She practically falls into the interview chair, hoping the sitting will disguise the fast her body is shaking like a leaf. At the back of her tongue is a chemical taste, the medic who visited her last night game her something for the vomiting. So she would not lose her lunch during the interview. But she won't get any special treatment inside of the Games.

"Caroline, how have you felt adjusting to the Capitol life?" Drusus asks her, wanting to start the woman off with something easy. She looks gratefully over to him, he is trying to get the underdogs to do their best.

"It's certainly different," she stammers back. Her voice picking up confidence as she continues to talk, "the food sure is good. I can't stop eating it." She states the audience erupts into laughter with Drusus.

"What's your favorite?" Drusus asks as casual as two friends catching up after not seeing each other for a while. They could be discussing a menu of a small restaurant.

"The hot chocolate," Caroline replies without a second thought.

"It certainly is delicious." Drusus agrees, echoed by the cheers of the audience.

"Now, you're certainly one of the more controversial Tributes. Volunteering and your shock announcement Goodbye session certainly made you memorable. Can you talk us through what was going through your mind?" Drusus asks the audience goes silent. Ready to hear the answers to the questions they have had since the Reapings.

Caroline takes a deep breath. Now is time to release the secret she has not even wanted to admit to herself. The audience can sense her tension and it soon cracks through the air like lightning. A pin drop could be heard. A breath could be heard.

"At the time I was so confused. I just knew that I could not let Alyssa be reaped. Though I didn't know why till the goodbyes," Carolines voice cracks.

"Because you love her," Drusus echos. Gaining a mixture of sympathetic and controversial replies from the crowd.

"Because I love her." Caroline agrees, a tear falling down her cheek. "But," Caroline tries to start but then her voice cracks and she needs to take a moment to breathe.

"But what?" Drusus asks curiosity coating his voice like sugar.

"But," Caroline takes a deep breath. "But I shouldn't have volunteered." Shocked uproar can be heard from the audience at this confession.

"Because of Anton? Do you still love him?" Drusus asks softly, reaching a hand out he plants it on the female Tributes.

Laugher bubbles out from Caroline's lips. "It's more complicated than that," she explains, not meeting his gaze. "Of course I still love him."

"What's more complicated than love?" Drusus asks another hush has fallen across the audience.

Tears start to dribble down Caroline's cheeks. "Children are," she replies. No one seems to know what she means by those words, then it clicks. Drusus's eyes go wide in shock as his eyes flicker to her belly. Then chaos breaks out. Yelling and screaming in the audience the buzzer cannot be heard going off.

Drusus's nods to Coraline to sit back down as he tries to get the audience under control. But they will not settle. Some still don't understand what is going on and look confused at the mess breaking out around them. Others are thrashing about, yelling and making fools of themselves.

The other Tributes just look at each other with pale faces as Caroline sits back down in her seat. It takes Drusus the better part of ten minutes to get the audience back under control. Saying that the interviews must go on before calling the name of the boy from her District.

 **Oliver Apollo, 17, District 5.**

Oliver walks towards Drusus with a hard expression on his face. It's impossible to read and slightly uneasy, it makes him look powerful. A hush falls over the audience as this attractive Tribute commands their attention.

He wears a plain black suit with a white undershirt. It looks good on him, with his curly brown hair and hazel eyes. He is dashing, dark and swarthy, a gleaming smile greets the audience. He is what a Tribute is supposed to be.

He and Drusus shake hands casually, breaking off Oliver sit's back in his chair with a relaxed expression on his face. He is used to attracting the attention of the Capitol. He throws them another dazzling smile, the one he uses to attract clients. The audience cheers for him as he waves slightly, greeting them.

"Tell me, Oliver. Who is routing from you back at home to win these Games?" Drusus asks, his voice warm and welcoming.

He has no idea that that is the one question that Oliver did not want to be asked. He has not heard anything from Dwayne and he has become more and more anxious about it. He wishes he could just see his face one more time. Every fiber in his being wishes that Dwayne came to say goodbye. But that voice whispers in the back of his head, _you knew that he wouldn't._

Oliver clears his throat. "My brother Daniel, the only one who was at my Goodbyes will be rooting for me to come home," he explains. Daniel was the only one to say goodbye to Oliver, he found solace in the relationship that they had started to heal.

"Apart from him, my best friend Dwayne and my friend Chris I'm sure will be rooting for me," Oliver says this with as much confidence as he can muster.

Drusus nods, "it's a shame they could not make it to your Goodbyes," he says. Curiosity is hidden in the not quite question.

"They were at work " Oliver explains, his voice monotone. It is true, no one gets the Reapings off unless they are eligible. Even if Dwayne wanted to be there he couldn't.

Drusus nods along again, accepting Oliver's answer he seems to want to be pushing the boy to say more. Oliver smirks, "I'm sure I have more supporters here in the Capitol than back home, some of you I even seem to recall meeting personally," Oliver has to be careful about what he says. He can't risk exposing his profession without repercussions.

But from the way some of the Capitol residents cheer in the audience they certainly recognize him. Oliver grins at the recognition. Sponsors are what he is going to need to survive the Games. _If you die I die too_ , and what he is going to need for Dwayne to survive too. The buzzer goes off and Oliver walks back to his chair confidently, he has broken the tension.

 **Esme Layton, 17, District 6.**

Esme walks to the stage with a dazzling smile for the audience. She wears a yellow dress that drapes at her calves with a thigh slit and plunging neckline. On her feet, she wears strappy black heels that she walks in with a complete and utter confidence. Metallic piercings trail their way up her ears and reflect off the lights, causing them to gleam and almost light up her face.

She shakes Drusus hand with a soft grip and he kisses her hand before releasing it. The audience cheers for the girl as she sits across, smiling. "So Esme, let's talk about what happened at your Reapings, was it a boyfriend that got tackled by the Peacekeepers?"

Esme laughs out loud, her soft voice sounding as beautiful as a windchime. She grins the widest and realist grin that the stage has seen for the night. "That's Riley," she explains, the grin starting to make her lips twitch. But she can't wipe it off her face. It's clear to see she is relaxed with the mention of the boy.

"He's my best friend. Not my boyfriend," she explains. The audience seems to like that answer, showering the boy in cries of admiration for all that he risked for her.

"Really? You two certainly seemed close during the Goodbyes," Drusus teases. The audience breaks into laughter as Cassia blushes slightly, the smile coming back on her face she looks confidently back at Drusus.

"I don't think you could ever imagine, but the Games are almost a death sentence in my District. We only have five Victors after all. There are not many chances to get close with people in the Games so I took my last chance to be close to my best friend when I could." A hush has fallen over the audience at her words, they listen captivated to what the girl is explaining to them.

They do not usually get such a clear view of the Games, their version is painted in a coat of glamour and glitz. Not raw emotions like Esme is explaining, like the possibility of not going home. Esme seems to sense this change in the audience and breaks the spell when she jokes. "But if you want to talk about boyfriends there certainly are a few eligible bachelors here."

The audience erupts into laughter at her words. Esme smiles back at them, but it does not quite meet her eyes this time. "Oh do tell us, who are your top three?" Drusus asks the audience goes crazy at his question, yelling their favorites.

"Top three bachelors?" Esme replies, she makes a big show of staring at the other Tributes as she thinks it over. She wonders if she should be strategic about how to answer, then she throws that thought out of the window. _To hell with it._

"I would probably say…" The audience has fallen silent, insanely curious about what she is going to say. "Oliver," The first name gets an applause from the crowd, the camera pans to his face and he looks up good-naturedly, giving a thumbs up he winks toward Esme. She smiles back.

"Nate," the next name gets an even louder applause yet when the camera pans over he stares ahead. Glaring at the floor. This just makes the audience laugh louder, as Drusus jokes that she might be barking up the wrong tree with that Tribute. Esme jokes back that that's why he let her choose three.

"And I better say Blake seeing as we have kissed already," Esme drops that bombshell. The audience erupts into shocked conversation and yells. Esme has the biggest grin of the night on her face as she laughs silently to herself as he buzzer goes off.

On a whim she shakes Drusus's hand again as she leaves the stage, grabbing his hand she plants a kiss on it for a change. The audience members that notice the gesture burst out into more laughter and conversation as Esme walks to the other Tributes, the massive grin and laugher not leaving her face.

 **Jerry Kapper, 15, District 6.**

Jerry walks up to the stage with a slight smile on his face. He wears a charcoal grey suit, like what he wore to his reaping. It makes his blond hair stand out and he wears a dress shirt and pocket square of the same color. He carries his boyish glee with him onto the stage, smiling broadly as he shakes Drusus hand before settling down next to the older man.

"Are you disappointed you didn't make Esme's list?' Drusus asks him, causing the audience erupts into laughter and whoops.

Jerry laughs it off good-naturedly. "Not particularly, there's someone back home who I care about a lot more," he replies. Looking into the camera he smiles, pretending that he can see Melanie's face in front of him. The audience sighed, lapping up the love story.

"Can you tell us about her?" Drusus asks.

Jerry looks nervous, he rubs the back of his neck while he does not meet Drusus eyes. "Well that's the thing, she doesn't know how I feel about her. Now I'm afraid I've left it a bit too late." The audience breaks out into sympathetic cooing at the boy's confession.

Jerry feels his knee bouncing up and down but he can't control it. "Do you want to tell her how you feel?" Drusus asks him softly, trying to make Jerry forget that the audience is there.

Jerry awkwardly fiddles with his hands. He tries to make his knee stop bouncing but it won't stop. Anxious and frustrated sweat breaks out on his forehead as he looks down at his knee. It won't stop.

"I guess it's okay for someone like Esme to confess stuff like that without batting her eyelids. I guess it doesn't mean as much. I thought her and my brother were dating, they were in the same bed the morning of the reaping. But she told me they weren't dating." Jerry starts to ramble, is heart beating faster and faster.

The audience mutters to each other softly at this confession but Jerry does not notice. His frustration getting the better of him. "But I've only ever liked this one girl, and now I may not even get that." He ponders out loud.

"I've known her my whole life. Melanie, not Esme," Jerry is so caught up in his own thoughts he does not realize that he let his best friends name slip. "I like her because she's pretty. Shes pretty when I look through the window to her classroom when I'm at lunch and see her chew on her pencil when she can't figure out the answer. She's pretty when she leads me around the District after a long day and we get lost and that crinkle she gets between her eyebrows when she's trying to find the way home. She's pretty when she tucks flowers around my body inside of my dream." Jerry got so caught up in his rambling that he did not notice that the audience had gone silent. Now done he stares out at them, he feels like crying though he is not quite sure why.

The buzzer goes off, it causes Jerry to jump and he rushes back to his seat. Tears prick at the edge of his vision so he stares at his feet. He cannot cry.

 **Willow Ashes, 16, District 7.**

Willows walks up to Drusus slightly uncertainty. She wears a deep red dress, red lipstick and eyeliner accentuate the look and high red heels make her look deadly. But she walks slightly wobbly in the heels, obviously not used to walking in them she stares down at her feet as she makes her way toward her interview eat.

Drusus notices her uncertainty and stands, offering her an arm she holds it gratefully as he helps her walk the final distance across the stage. He then helps her sit and she thanks him graciously as they shake hands. Her dirty blonde hair has been pinned up high and her brown eyes look almost black in the lighting. She looks gorgeous and Drusus mentions as such as he kisses her hand. She blushes at the gesture.

"So Willow, how have you been feeling since the Reaping?" Drusus asks, warming her up to the questions.

Willow takes a shaky breath, it hitches in her throat on the exhale. "Honestly Drusus it's been a little overwhelming. But I've adapted now, I'm ready to go into the Games," her bold claim gets the audience talking.

"Obviously you were Reaped. What was running through your mind when you heard your name called?" Drusus coaxes.

"I was mostly sad, that I would not be able to see my family and friend Marc for a while. Maybe forever. But there was also relief my little sister and Marc was not Reaped. I know how to fight and I know I can make it home. It just took a bit of a push for me to realize that." Willow answers diplomatically. She can't tell if her answer was a babbling mess of a confident statement, but the audience seems to be lapping it up.

"Can you tell us about your sister?" Drusus asks in a hushed voice.

Willow takes a deep breath. "Her name is Rosalyn and she's 14. I call her mouse since she's small for her age and impossibly fast. I would do anything for her." The audience offers sympathetic shouts to Willow. Telling her she can make it back home to her sister. But Willow blocks them out, instead, she addresses the camera.

"Hey little mouse, I know you're watching me. I just want to let you know that no matter what happens your big sister loves you and Marc will always look out for you. And Marc, if you look after her while I'm in the Games I'll take you up on your offer when I get out. I love you two both. And you mum and dad."

No one else will know what her offer means but she does. And how much it will mean to Marc. Even if she does not feel quite the same way right now. Every day her memories of those back home are becoming fonder. Maybe it's just the distance, or missing them, but Willow would be willing to try something more serious with Marc. Even just to show him how much he means to her. She would give anything to be back with them for even just a moment. Even her life.

The buzzer goes off and Willow makes her way with Drusus's help back to her seat. He thanks him gratefully for his help as he sets back down, straightening his suit. Before he calls out the name of her District partner.

 **Nirvana Ivanov, 18, District 7.**

Nirvana causes the heads of the Capitol to turns as he jumps out of his seat. His feet booming against the stage the noise turns all eyes on him. He smirks as he walks toward Drusus, looking slightly more casual than the others he wears beige chinos and a light blue dress shirt tucked in with a large belt. His dark braids are tied up and out of his face.

He walks over to Drusus, smiling at the audience on his way. He gets a roaring applause, a red rose is thrown at him and he catches it. Yelling thanks in the throwers general direction he snaps its stem off and tucks the flower into his pocket before shaking Drusus's hand. The other man smiles back.

"So let's cut to the chase Nirvana. How did you get that eleven?" Drusus asks, the audience hushes, hanging on to every unsaid word.

"Oh you know, it's not that hard really. Do a bit of this a bit of that, keep smiling and it's in your pocket." He winks at the audience, they erupt into chatter and applause at the Tributes words and Nirvana continues to smile and nod back at them.

"So how are you enjoying the Capitol so far?" Drusus asks, enjoying the company of this Tribute.

"It's pretty boring," Nirvana states gaining laughter from the audience. "It's just were forced to do this then forced to do that. I'm very ready for tonight to be my last night." He goes on to state, sounding displeased and bored of the interview.

"Is there nothing you will miss?" Drusus cries in mock hurt. Taking a hand to his heart as if extreme shock that a Tribute could not like it inside of The Capitol.

"Well, there's a couple of things I still want to do here," Nirvana smirks as if he just heard a joke. But it is a joke of his own. "But once that has been done I'll be ready to leave. Bring on the Games!" He yells, pumping his fist in the air.

"And what are those things you want to do?" Drusus asks, not letting Nirvana change the subject.

"Too personal to disclose I'm afraid," Nirvana smirks, throwing a wink towards the audience. "Let's just say it won't only be me up late and enjoying the night tonight." The audience seems confused about what he means and even Drusus does not seem to catch what he is saying.

But Nirvana shrugs off any more questions off and gets up when the buzzer goes off. Waving good-naturedly to the audience he slumps back into his seat. He stares brooding in front of him, not quite ready to leave.

 **Violet Mercury, 14, District 8.**

Violet yet again wears a violet dress, she is fitted to her name. Her hair has been styled into an intricate braid and she wears light makeup to accentuate her youth. Only fourteen, she is the second youngest in these Games. Instead of hiding it, her Stylists have made her youthfulness stick out. She looks as pretty as a porcelain doll as she walks to greet Drusus. No heels are on her feet, instead, she looks small in flats. She's also the second smallest one in these Games.

She walks with a tremor to her steps, her knees shaking so badly it is a wonder she can walk in a straight line she collapses into the interview chair before shaking Drusus's hand. She does that once she is sitting, without her knees to shake her whole body seems to tremor.

"So Violet, what's the biggest difference between the Capitol and District 8?" Drusus asks her, trying to draw the attention away from her shaking body.

She takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself before answering his question. "Jasper." She states.

When it's clear she is not going to say anything else Drusus prods her. "Whos Jasper?" He asks, his voice soft and comforting.

"Jaspers my boyfriend. He's always there for me. And he's always honest. Even when you don't want him to be He was there for me when my house almost flooded. He was there for me when I lost my pencil just before my test at school. He was there for me when I was alone and couldn't find anyone on a field trip at school. He's always there for me." She tramples, thinking of him makes her calm slightly. She pictures his scruffy black hair and grey eyes.

"How long have you been together?" Drusus asks.

"Two years now," Violet replies. Remembering when they first got together. She never thought someone like him would feel the same way. But it was the day after the reapings they got together, two years ago. She missed their anniversary.

"I..I missed the anniversary being here," she confesses. Even though she knows that she can't help it she stills feel guilt and insecurity rising inside of her about the fact she could not be there with him on their anniversary. It's enough to get her bottom lip to tremble slightly.

"Its okay, I'm sure he understands," Drusus consoles her. The audience yells up some sympathetic words but she barely hears them. Her mind is back in District 8 with the boy she loves.

Less than a week ago he picked her up for the square, joking about getting good seats at the reaping. Less than a week ago she felt jealous when those other girls wished him luck for the Reaping. It all seems so silly now. So trivial with what she now faces. With almost certain death. "I love him." Violet mumbles.

Drusus does not quite hear her. "What was that?" He asks.

"I said I love him. I love you, Jasper, I don't want you to ever forget that. I'll love you forever and ever." She stares right into the camera as tears fall down her cheeks, onto her lovely violet dress. The buzzer goes off and she rushes her way back to her seat, the tears making a liquid trail behind her.

 **Weft Loomis, 15, District 8.**

Weft swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing before he gets up and starts to walk toward the interview chair on stage. He can feel sweat start to break out on his back and hands and focuses on not tripping over. He saw a Tribute do that one year and they were mocked.

He wears dark green suit pants and a black dress shirt, it makes his tall frame seem even taller and his ginger hair to stand out. It's been fixed from his home cut by the Stylists and is now short and cropped. It has a slight curl to the front which frames his face in a handsome manner.

He shakes Drusus hand before sitting back in his seat. Grateful for the black shirt it will be harder to see the nervous sweat that is running down his back. He exchanges some brief pleasantries with Drusus, talking about the Capitol and all that is different from the districts. When Weft mentions the fancy shows the audience breaks out into laughter and applause. Apparently, even some of the Capitol residents still get confused by them.

Whereas Weft is confused by the concept of being able to push a button and have a torrent of steamy hot water. They are confused about how to make one jet of water smell like roses and the other like the sea. Weft laughs along with them regardless. Comparing the showers to his town back home. Both are confusing to navigate no matter at what time of day.

"So Weft, who do you think you're going to have to watch out for the most inside of the Games" Drusus asks, getting the small talk out of the way.

Weft chews on his lip, more confident now that the small talk is out of the way he breaks into a small smile. "Well the Careers are obviously very strong, it's a shame they tend to die of starvation." This causes the audience to erupt into shocked laughter. Weft gets a confidence boost from their validation.

"It would be easy to say someone like Nirvana is a threat with his eleven. But really we all know they only give _really_ high scores to those they want dead. He probably just pissed them off." Weft smiles as the audience laugh even louder, he sees some kind of drink to snort out of one of the men's noses and he erupts into his own brand of laughter.

"Don't even get me started on Cassia. She's had more drama than The President at this point and I didn't even see the whole of last night's interview." That really does it, the audience explodes into laughter that sounds more like an earthquake. Even Drusus is wiping tears out of the corner of his eyes.

His buzzer goes off and he gets out of his chair with a new found confidence. He struts back down to his char with a broad grin on his face. It fades when he notices the looks that he's getting from some of the other competitors.

 **Kalista Stone, 17, District 9.**

Kalista walks to meet Drusus with a very different outfit to most of the girls. Instead of wearing dresses like the others that have been seen tonight she wears an outfit fit for combat. She wears dark leggings, with rips over the knees and a thick belt they are made of a kind of thick material. There has been something woven overtop of it, almost metallic looking it looks like armor has been embedded into the legs. She wears a chest piece fit for a combat zone overtop of a dark blue top with large metallic shoulder pads. It is ripped and dirty, crimson streaks reflect in the light overtop. Like blood. Heavy combat boots are on her feet and they thud loudly as she walks across the stage.

She doesn't bother shaking Drusus's hand. Instead, she sits in the interview chair without another word. Her hair is braided behind her and has been intertwined with leaves and twigs. Making it look like she has just come out of a battle.

Drusus looks lost for words for a moment as he stares into dark eyes. Kalista waits for him to speak, continuing to stare right at him. There is some unease from the audience about how powerful this Tribute looks. Someone willing to go away from the norm is always someone to watch.

"So Kalisa, what do you think sets you apart from the other Tributes in these Games?" Drusus asks her, his voice slightly timid. It makes Kalista smile, exposing her white teeth.

"What sets me apart is my dedication. No matter what aspect of my life if I jump I jump in with everything I've got." She tells Drusus, the audience seems to hang on to her every word. "I may not be in the biggest pack but I got my nine without needing to be. I'm as good as the top competitors."

There is a murmur in the audience at what she is saying. This powerful Tribute certainly looks like she will be putting on a fight inside of the Games. She takes a moment to glare at those looking her way in the audience, trying to get them to wither on the spot. She succeeds, none can hold her gaze for more than a second.

"Do you have a pack of your own?" Drusus asks and the Capitol quickly quiets. Alliances make or break the Games. Adding so much more drama and flare when they turn on each other or there is a large fight between multiple groups.

"I can assure you I'm not going in alone. I'm taking those I think have the most potential with me," the audience erupts into cheers. Shouting overtop of each other they try to figure out who could be inside of this teased alliance.

Kalista finally smiles, offering a dazzling one out to the audience they cheer for this fearsome Tribute who has managed to go under the Careers radar for so long. That might change after tonight.

 **Cole Rockweld, 15, District 9.**

Cole walks to meet with Drusus with one thing making him keep his nerve. Barrick will see this interview. He needs to be strong for Barrick and get back home to him. He doesn't care how the Capitol may not approve of their relationship. Even now, he is getting the idea that it is only a few high ups keeping the Capitol feeling that way. He has hope that in the future the opinions could change. He knows that it is a Victor that will be able to change it.

He walks with pride, wearing the same suspenders from his Reaping his stylists just loved the _authenticity_ of having him wear the same thing twice. A better color white dress shirt and black slacks accompany the suspenders and boots as shiny as a mirror is on his feet. He shakes Drusus hand with a smile, the silver band on his left finger glimmering on his hand. He has refused to take it off since he was reaped. He will never take it off.

Drusus stares at it, keeping the handshake a moment longer before sighing as he drops the Tributes hand. "So let's get the elephant in the corner out of the way," Drusus states, getting the immediate attention of the Capitol. "Is that a wedding band on your finger?"

Cole smiles sadly to himself. "It is," he replies. "My boyfriend, Barrick proposed just before the Reaping. He was supposed to give this ring to the daughter of a wealthy cattle farmer. But he didn't. He chose me instead. I guess it was supposed to remain a secret, but.." Cole shrugs his shoulders as he looks out to the audience as if saying _what can you do?_

"A secret no more," Drusus echos.

Cole nods along, his mind thinks back to Barrick and the life that they could have had together. Despite their age. Despite their gender. The love was the thing that bonded them. That meant that everything was supposed to be okay. Of course, the happiest day of Coles life turned out to be the worst as well. The joy ripped away so soon.

"How did your parents react?" Drusus asks, genuinely curious.

"Well, they didn't know," Cole stammers awkwardly. He hasn't wanted to think about his parents would take this news. How the District would look at Barrick. He needs to get home as a Victor. Not just for himself. But for Barrick too.

"Oh," Drusus replies, his voice shocking into a hush. Quiet whispers break out in the audience. No one seems to know what to say so they all sit there awkwardly for a few seconds until the buzzer goes off.

Cole walks back to his seat without another word. He will have to prove to them that he will do well inside of the Games. Not convince them with words. He holds the ring on his left hand with his right, spinning it around his finger as he closes his eyes, picturing Barracks face.

 **Eva Brath, 14, District 10.**

Eva stumbles her way towards Drusus. She wears a frilly white dress that contrasts her black hair in a way that makes her stand out despite her plain features. But she does her best to blend into the stage beneath her. She seems to want to sink into the ground with all the attention that she is getting and she shuffles slowly across the stage, looking down.

When she gets close to Drusus he can see that she is shaking all over. Tremors wrack her body like earthquakes as she juts out a hand, he stakes it gently. Doing his best to try and calm the girl down with sympathetic looks. It only makes her feel worse. The other Tributes have managed to keep their nerve why can't she? But then she thinks about the fact that the whole of Panem is watching her now. Probably a closeup right on her face. She looks down again as she sits in her chair. It slightly disguises her shaking. Slightly.

"So Eva, tell me about your life at home." Drusus starts, trying to get the girl to calm down by talking about something comfortable and safe.

She takes a deep breath, shakily exhaling. "I live on a farm with my mother and little sister. We are quite far away from the rest of the District so I am homeschooled. It takes over an hour to get to the nearest school. An hour and a half to get to the square." The audience coos in sympathy for the girl as she stammers out her story. But that's the least of her problems

She takes a deep breath. "My father was killed three years ago now and my sisters have been in the Games for two years in a row. I'm the third Tribute in my family for three years." The audience breaks into shocked gasps, not connecting the similar looks and same last name until this very moment. They are so ignorant here it's almost painful.

"That's very unlucky odds," Drusus says, sympathy clear in his voice.

Eva swallows, she does not want his sympathy. "My only wish is that my younger sister does not end up here as well. She's eight, turning nine in a couple of months. I want her to live her life. Not have it torn away like the rest of her sisters." A tear falls from Evas' cheek.

"So you have no hope of going home?" Drusus asks her.

Eva smiles softly at him. "I'm sure I'll try and fight my way out. How could you not?" She shrugs at the audience. "But I don't live in a dreamland. I know how closely tied life and death are. Even those who come out of the arena… They are changed in a way don't have the words to explain. I don't think I would ever want to be that way. I think I'd rather just see my sisters and father again." It's the plain way that Eva explains the situation that breaks a few of the Capitol residents, causing tears to roll down the butchered faces of audience members.

"Well, I wish you the best. And the best for your younger sister," Drusus says solemnly just before the buzzer goes off. Eva smiles back at him, it's a hopeless smile. Then she walks back to her seat. Not looking back.

 **Trafalgar Zaun, 15, District 10.**

Trav walks towards Drusus wearing a deep green suit. It glimmers under the light, having something sparkly woven into the fabric. Trav has an obvious dislike for the outfit and keeps tugging at the sleeves. They move awkwardly in it, as if they do not know what to do.

They shake Drusus hand briefly, not bothering to pretend they like the contact. Drusus takes it good-naturedly, joking as Trav sits back down into the interview chair. "So, Trafalgar," Drusus starts. But Trav cuts him off.

"Its Trav," they inform Drusus. Drusus looks surprised at the interruption but nods his head along with Trav's request.

"So, Trav," Drusus starts, "what does life look like back home for you?" Trav looks awkward and slightly annoyed as they tug even harder on the suit jacket. As if trying to pull a seam loose.

"I'd prefer not to talk about my life back home," Trav states. Staring Drusus down. Some of the audience shift uncomfortably in their seats at the awkward exchange. Trav feels awkward about home life and does not want to bring more attention to his brothers past with Eva's sister. Or to the fact that Trav's family does not support their identity. Or the fact they only have only one real friend these days.

"Okay," Drusus says, sucking air through his teeth. "Let's talk about the Games. What do you think your chances are?"

Trav lets out a deep breath. "I am confident in my chances. I didn't come into the Games wanting an alliance but one found me," they let the information slip strategically.

"An alliance?" Drusus perks back up again, intrigue lighting up his voice.

"An alliance. A large one at that," Trav smirks. Enjoying the feeling of knowing more than the commentator. They see some of the audience sit further forward in their seats. Listening with interest to Trav's next words.

"Can you tell us of any of the others in your alliance?" Drusus asks, raising one eyebrow at the Tribute.

"Well, I can't drop any names. You will just have to wait and see." Trav attempts to put a mysterious tone to their voice. It seems to work on the audience, they sigh in disappointment as they sag back into their seats.

The buzzer then goes off and Trav gets up briefly. Walking back to their seat they continue to tug at the end of their jacket.

 **Poppy Northrop, 15, District 11.**

Poppy walks up as soon as her name is called. She wears a pink dress that falls to just below her knees. It bounces as she walks, giving more mobility to her movements and making it seem like she is almost floating her way across the stage. She has minimal makeup on, what she does highlights her features and makes her look beautiful.

Drusus kisses her hand after they shake causing Poppy's face to go pink like some of the others that night. She settles into the interview chair without another word, looking around she seems to be in awe of where she is and what is happening. She takes a moment to get her bearings, taking a couple of deep breaths.

"Poppy, how have you felt since your name was called?" Drusus asks her, his voice quiet.

Poppy looks right at him, smiling softly. "At the start, I was so afraid, not many make it out of the Games. Then when Harvest was Reaped…" Her voice trails off as she swallows a breath that hitches in her throat. She coughs a couple of times, trying to clear it.

"Then when Harvest was Reaped it was like the worst thing possible happened." A hush has fallen over the audience, they are enthralled about what this slim girl with the high score is sharing. "My mother, the Mayor didn't seem to really process what was happening and that hurt a bit," Poppy admits, thinking back to the day.

"I don't blame her," Poppy quickly adds not wanting any repercussions to affect her. But Poppy still feels the hurt of her mother not coming to her when she needed the woman the most. In that short span of time before Harvest was Reaped alongside her.

"But now, now I'm glad I have Harvest with me. No matter what he will be at my side and I know that we can trust each other completely. We've been best friends for as long as I can remember. No matter what happens we will always have this connection. And I am so impossibly grateful for that." Poppy stops for a moment, trying to catch the breath she has used up in her almost constant talking.

"What do you think will happen inside of the Games?" Drusus prods, his voice curious.

"I don't know," Poppy answers honestly. Glancing at the other Tributes she feels her stomach sink back into itself. It's a sinking feeling that she has come to know quite well.

"But I know me and Harvest will be together, and that's the only thing I need," Poppy says this with conviction strong enough in her voice to convince the most undecided Capitol resident. They erupt into an applause as the buzzer goes off and Poppy walks back to her seat. Confident in herself.

 **Harvest Kohl, 15, District 11.**

Harvest walks towards Drusus with sweat already sticking to his forehead. He is grateful of his dark suit jacket, it hides the patches of moisture that have formed under each arm as he has had to listen to all of the other Tributes. Nervousness courses through his veins as dark brown boots thumbs loudly over the stage, they lead to dark suit pants.

Harvest wipes his sweaty hands on his pants before shaking Drusus hand. The man is good-natured enough to wait until the both of them are sitting down before wiping Harvests sweat off of his own hand. Harvest smiles sheepishly, wiping the sweat off of his forehead. The stage lights are impossibly bright to Harvest and he has to squint to see Drusus across from him.

"Well that certainly was an emotional statement from Poppy," Drusus starts, pretending to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye. "Is there anything you would like to add to it?"

Harvest states at the man for a moment before he opens his mouth to reply, "just that I'm going to do everything in my power to protect her and bring her home." The audience sighed and yells up in sympathy at his words. Drusus nods along with them, putting a show of sympathy on his face as the audience continues to cry out.

"Can you tell us about your District?" Drusus asks him, ready to move away from the connection between the two of them. Harvest feels annoyance, Drusus was fine to have Poppy ramble on about him but as soon as he tries to do the same Drurus wants to branch out. But he has to humor the commentator, so he takes a deep breath to quiet these thoughts.

"I live with mother and father. I had an older brother, Durian, but he died in an accident on one of the farms when I was only seven. After that, I had to help out and started working myself. We had a baby back then too, my little sister. She was only one at the time. I've been working on farms around the District ever since." Harvest takes a deep breath, the past hurts, he still remembers his older brother. He was Harvests idol.

"Poppy helps out too, she's been working on the farms as long I have and gives her paychecks to my family so we can survive. Without her I would have been dead all those years ago, my family slowly starving. I owe her my life and my family's life too," admiration is clear to hear in Harvests voice as he talks about Poppy.

It causes some of the audience to give each other knowing looks. Harvest misses them though, he is busy staring at his hands now his story is over. He does not know where to look or what to do. His back and arms are wet in sweat.

"I wish you two the best," Drusus tells him honestly just before the buzzer goes off. Harvest nods in recognition before walking back to his seat. Poppy leans her head over his shoulder despite the sweat and they stay that way while the final girl Tribute is called.

 **Pricilla Winters, 15, District 12.**

Pricilla walks to the stage with a slight tremble to her step. It's not as noticeable as some of the other girls, but it still gives a bit of her wobble to her walk. She wears a pale blue dress that stops at her knees and ruffles up to a high neckline.

When she gets to Drusus she sticks her hand to shake his slightly awkwardly. She sits after that and Drusus whispers something into her ear. It causes her to giggle and starts to break the tension between them. She takes a deep breath that follows shakily down her throat.

"So Pricilla, what's your favorite thing been about the Capitol so far?" Drusus asks her, keeping his voice low he is trying to keep her happy and calm. She smiles back at him, just barely showing her teeth.

"Probably the views. I can see all over the Capitol from my room in the Tribute center and it's beautiful to look out over it," Pricilla explains. The Capitol citizens hush over the complete admiration that can be heard in her voice.

"The Capitol certainly is beautiful," Drusus agrees.

"It's so different from my home. We don't have any buildings over a story high. I think we used to, but not these days, everything in the Capitol is just so big and high. It's like stepping into another world entirely."

There's complete silence from the audience, Pricilla's eyes have gone wide as she has been thinking about all that has happened since coming to the Capitol. Even learning all those new skills at the Training Center.

"Who do you have back home routing you on?" Drusus asks her, a smirk on his face. Pricilla feels her cheeks turning pink as she remembers what happened at her Goodbye Session.

She sees through the loaded question, "Oliver is the one that you want to know about. I don't quite know what we are. But I hope to get home and find out," she explains. Her voice growing distant as she thinks about those few moments they shared together.

She wishes that they had committed sooner. They had been dancing around it for so long. There may be no time left. But at least they got a moment. A fleeting moment is never than never. No matter how lonely it makes the future seem.

"Thank you for your time," Drusus tells her and Pricilla thanks him back. They wrap up with a hug, the first of the night. Then the timer goes off and Pricilla is walking back to her seat. The trembling in her legs is gone and her mind is cloudy. What she wants the most is just to go to bed and get some sleep no matter how terrible tomorrow will be.

 **Flint Fraser, 13, District 12.**

Flint walks onto the stage looking like a true child. A white dress shirt hangs loosely over his malnourished frame and black pants make him seem just slightly taller than he is. His boots add a few centimeters, but he is still the smallest one there by far.

He practically bounces with excitement as he vigorously shakes Drusus hand. It takes Drusus aback, the energy this Tribute shows is not often seen and he can't help but smile at the goofy Flint looks with messed up hair and his glasses magnifying his eyes. He truly looks like a young little owl.

"Would you like to tell us a bit about yourself? Drusus asks, sensing that the boy is practically bursting with excitement.

"Sure!" Jerry yells, forgetting for a moment that he has a microphone on. "My names Flint. My best friends names are Felix, Mira, and Justin. Justin has a dog called Pecan who I think likes me better than him." The audience laughs at the humor that Flint brings. It is refreshingly unique to all of the other Tributes that have been tonight. Like a breath of fresh air inside of a stuffy room.

"My mother's name is Thalia and I love her very much. My sister's name is Farah, she's practically another mum to me. I hope that I can grow to be just like her someday. She's my best friend and my idol and is everything good in the world." Flint rambles on. "She made me my glasses and is always inventing stuff. She wishes we came from District 3. But I wish we came from District 4. I got to try out swimming in the Training Center and the feeling of floating was just like I imagined. But even better." Flint has to take a breath between his rapid words and the audiences laugh at the energy that he is showing.

Flint then looks really nervous. Drusus senses the change in the Tribute. "What's wrong?" He asks, trying to be gentle with the younger boy.

"I talked about Training. I'm not supposed to do that." Flint looks mortified at his own actions and he glances in fear over to the Gamemakers as if he was expecting to get reprimanded right there and then.

"Its okay," Drusus consoles him. "You're not allowed to talk about the Private Sessions in details, but the Training Center is similar all years. They even allow tours of it before the Games begin. You're not in trouble."

Flint looks up at Drusus like he wants to believe him but doesn't. Looking back to the Gamemakers one of them nods, it's the slightest movement but it puts Flint back at ease. He visibly relaxes.

The buzzer goes off then again and Flint looks mildly disappointed. He had more that he wanted to say. But Drusus smiles at him ruffling his hair he says goodbye to Flint. Flint says goodbye back, feeling on top of the world.

The Capitol anthem plays as all of the Tributes walk out and stand across the stage. One final look for the Capitol at the children that will soon be forced to kill each other. They all look so beautiful, so young, so deadly and it causes the Capitol residents to erupt into cheers and an applause louder than anything any of the Tributes have heard before.

Roses are thrown to everyone on the stage, coating the floor there is no longer stage but piles on piles of flowers. The Tributes all respond differently. Some smile and love the attention, others glare ahead, a few have tears running down their cheeks.

"Panem, I present to you your Tributes of the 189th Hunger Games!" Drusus yells over the roar. Only gaining a louder applause.

 **Authors note:**

 **If you want to know how tired I was when I wrote the last half of this chapter I was lying in bed listening to Jeremy Zucker crying to myself because I realized that one Tribute that I have attached to is a bloodbath.**

 **Please please please review, this was one of the hardest chapters I had to write and the one I was most scared for since starting an SYOT. Let me know what you thought of it :)**

 **As always,**

 **May the odds be ever in your favor,**

 **And,**

 **Thank you for your sacrifice.**


	34. Connection (EVE OF THE GAMES)

**Ace Platinum, 18, District 1.**

As soon as I got back from the interviews I jumped into the shower. I turned the water up the hottest it could go, trying to scrub the feelings from the interviews off with the scalding liquid. I hope that no one caught the occasional tear that ran down my cheek at the interviews.

I take a hand and place it on my face now, caressing my own cheek I remember the exact path they carved down. It's a good thing the others interviews were so interesting. Or someone might have called me out for it. The Capitol citizens were so distracted learning about the Tributes who will start to die tomorrow.

I don't know what's come over me, but it all suddenly seems so much. Over the past three days of training, I've got to know the others. They are almost friends. We've loosened up with each other, started trading inside jokes. Weiss and I have started a game of counting how many times Blake makes a flirtatious comment and how many times Nate looks like he wants to thumbs him for it.

I could be back home, with Tiffany and Prince sitting in the Districts. We would of have a sleepover the night before the Games. Writing predictions and analyzing all that had been said or shown of each Tribute so far. We would make bets of silly things between each other. Last year I bet Prince the hardest punch he could give that Bastion would win, he took on the challenge, offering me the same with the female Tribute- Hera would outlast him. I gave Prince a punch that took a month for the bruise to fully go away. He laughs about it now, but he got pretty upset when it first happened. But a bet is a bet and I know he would have gone just as hard on me if things were the opposite way around.

And Tiffany, I've bet silly things with her around the Games before. I wonder what she thought of the interview tonight, whether she caught the tears on my cheek. I wonder if she has found the ring yet, realized what it means. I would be at home with her, we had a nice life going Our whole lives in front of us. But I volunteered. I saved someone else, but now is it too late to save myself?

I've trained my whole life for these Games. But I don't think I ever truly realized what that meant. It just seemed like the right thing to do and volunteer, prove I never needed my parent's money. What was that all for, to do this? To maybe ever see Tiffany and Prince again? He was so gutted when he found out it was me to volunteer this year, not him. But maybe he's the real winner.

There's a soft knocking at my door.

"Just a second!" I yell, wandering over to my dresser I pull on the first shirt that I can be found. I only put on some baggy track pants after my shower.

"Come in," I say as I sit back onto my bed. Legs crossed I try and clear the melancholy expression from my face. That is not what they will want to see.

Armani walks in a small smile on her face. "Weiss is spending the evening with her dad and I figured you might be a little lonely," she explains. She reaches her arm out, there is a cup in it. I grasp it gently, bringing the steaming liquid to my lips. It tastes like fresh air.

"Its tea, it will help you sleep," Armani explains.

"Thank you," I reply with a small smile, taking small sips of the liquid.

"How are you feeling?" Armani asks in a soft voice.

I look over to my mentor, the soft expression on her freckled face. "I'm terrified," I reply honestly. I don't know what to expect from her, maybe to be disappointed or angry. But she surprises me, reaching a hand out she places it on my knee.

"I was terrified before my Games too," she confesses.

"Really?" I ask Armani has always seemed so calm and controlled.

"In my Games, I almost didn't make it. The alliance was planning on taking me out the next day so I slit their throats in their sleep that night. Then stayed out of the action. My District Partner, Polaris, he was killed in the bloodbath. An anomaly, two Tributes teamed up against him." Armani has to stop for a moment, taking a deep breath pain is clearly shown on her face.

"The pain and guilt never go away, do they?" I ask.

"Never," Armani replies.

 **Cassia Slander, 16, District 2.**

I walk with delicate steps to the door a couple of steps away from mine. My hair drapes loosely down, heavy with moisture from my shower. It took longer than expected to wash all traces of the interviews off of my body and face.

I knock on the door softly, not waiting for a reply I walk straight in. The figure sitting on the bed smiles when he sees me. In soft dark blue pants and baggy white shirts, he looks nothing like the intimidating boy in the interview today.

"Hey," he tells me, moving over he ushers for me to sit next to him on the bed.

"Hey," I reply softly as I sit. The bed is as soft as mine, spongy underneath it's almost like sleeping on top of the stars.

We sit in silence for a moment, lost in the thoughts of today. Tomorrow we will have to kill the Tributes we sat next to tonight. No matter how young and small they are right now, tomorrow they will be a carcass.

"You did really well tonight," I tell Nate. He did, he had a power on that stage that no one else seemed to capture. A seriousness, a deadliness that made him impossible to look away from.

"Thank you, you did well too," he replies. Still not meeting my eyes he stares down at his hands. I wasn't too thrilled when my mentor, Abigail, told me to be hostile during the interview. But it made sense. I already have such a large target on my back from the 12, I don't need added attention. The Sponsors already have my name written down.

I laugh in reply to Nate and he finally looks up at me. "Did I say something funny?" He asks, a husky seriousness to his voice.

"That I did anything well compared to you," I reply, staring down his dark blue eyes.

"You were captivating," he answers. "I couldn't take my eyes off of you." He stares back into my eyes for a long moment. Then he drops his gaze.

"I have a promise I need to keep," he tells me. Grasping his hands together it's almost like he is nervous. I have never seen Nate nervous before.

My cheeks go pink, remembering the breakdown that I had. A destroyed the note that my parents left me, but the pain of their message has been burned into me. A permanent mark. "How you got the blood on you," I whisper.

Nate nods. Taking a deep breath. "That morning I was riled up, I wasn't myself. It was like something dark and twisted was over me. Power. Power of knowing I was going into the Games," he starts to explain. Continuing to twist his hands together.

"I was in this dark cloud. Then a boy bumped into me." Nate takes a shaky breath. "Remember what I told you just before the Chariot rides?"

"About the Volunteer?" I whisper.

Nate nods, "well I did the same thing to this boy. I don't know what came over me, but it has in the past." Nate takes a deep breath. "Milo calmed me down before I did anything really bad, but it was his blood."

I stretch out a hand slowly as if Nate was a dangerous animal. He looks startled when I touch his cheek gently, shuffling my body just a little closer to his. "I'm afraid of the person I become when I can't control the anger," he confesses, looking down at the floor. "I'll be a different person completely in the arena."

"We can get through it, together," I reply in a whisper.

"Promise?" Nate asks, finally meeting my gaze. Our bodies are so close together, sharing the same breath.

"Promise."

 **Callum Lennon, 18, District 3.**

I sit next to Talia on her bed. Neither of us has really felt like talking since the interviews. Both of our minds are foggy with all the information that has been given. The other Tributes all made such big impressions. I just don't think that I made enough of an impression.

"Who do you think did the best?" I ask Talia, wanting to take her mind off of her thoughts as well. Though it may not have been the quest question as she just looks scared when she looks back up at me. I reach out an arm, taking the palm of her hand in mine.

"I don't know if you can decide on one best," Talia stutters out, trying to get her thoughts under control. "But I think that the Careers made the biggest impression."

I nod along, they certainly were intimidating. I have a notebook sitting in my lap, getting it out I look at the different names written down, trying to connect names to faces. "That girl, Kalista, she made a very intimidating impression," I say, remembering how different she was from the rest of us.

"She scares me," Talia replies.

"Why?"

"Because she's one of us. From the outer Districts. But she's acting like one of them. I'd be worried if I was in an alliance with her," Talia explains. I feel my eyebrows rising at what she has been saying, it's a great point.

"I don't want to talk about the others though, I want to talk about us," she says, leaning her body against mine.

"What about that time we tried to make a cake together?" I tease. She giggles, a soft sound it fills the room like pale pink bubbles.

"You ended up with as much flour on you to be a ghost," she replies, laughing louder as she remembers the day.

"Your cat came in and didn't even recognize me," I joke.

"She was ready to attack," Talia laughs. "Wren came over that day too, didn't he?" She asks, the memory becoming clearer inside of her mind.

The smile drops from Callum's expression, "yeah, he did. Back when we were still getting to know each other." I reply. My hand goes absentmindedly to the dog tag on my neck. I feel the rough metal under the skin on my thumb and the letters that are engraved onto it.

"Sorry," Talia says, realizing the sudden shift in my demeanor.

"Its okay," I tell her. No matter how long it has been the pain of losing Wren always hits me harder than ever. You would think that it would start to die down after so long, but the pain still is as fresh as ever.

"What do you think it's like to die?" She asks me, her voice cracking. I look over to Talia, tears have started to run down her cheeks. I wipe them away with my hand, trying to offer some comfort.

"I think it will be like coming home," I say. Not sure if I believe it or not. But I know it is what Talia needs to hear.

"I think it will be like coming home after a long and hard day."

 **Blake Calloun, 17, District 4.**

I burst into Carolyn's room, dripping from my shower I didn't bother to properly dry off. I hate the feeling of those Capitol dryers and the towels are just so smooth. But I couldn't focus, not with everything that happened tonight.

"They showed us up!" I yell as the door opens. Using too much force it slams against the wall of her room.

She's sitting on her bed, her flowing blonde hair shimmering behind her back. She doesn't smile, instead, she looks distastefully up at me. "You showed up Blake? _Never"_ her words are dripping with sarcasm.

I roll my eyes at her, sitting on the floor I cross my legs as I look up to where she sits on the bed. "The pregnant girl from Six, she's going to get any sponsor she wants."

"Caroline," she corrects me. Something peeves me off about the way he has chosen to remember their names.

I roll my eyes, "that and the girl from District Nine," I reply. She looked as deadly as any of us tonight. My blood boils at the way the Capitol ate up all of the other Tributes interviews. Can't they see that we are the real winners?

"Kalisa," Carolyn corrects again.

I feel a surge of annoyance. "Why are you bothering to remember their names?" I ask, my voice annoyed. Almost childish.

"Since then I'll know who I've killed," she replies simply.

"Alright, but I want the pregnant one," I tell her, my voice cold.

Carolyn rolls her eyes at me, her face still expressionless. "You can go now," she tells me after a moment of silence. I huff in annoyance, getting up from the floor I don't bother to wave a goodbye as I slam her door shut behind me.

Walking out I am aimless, I was hoping to be entertained a little longer by Carolyn. I can hear voices in the dining room so I walk out there. Marvolo and Alice sit together. "You two lovebirds gossiping about how well I did?" I ask them taking a seat across.

They ignore me, Alice whispering something into Marvolo's ear before she gets up, walking the way that I came from. I guess giving last minute advice to Carolyn. I wait expectantly for my advice.

"What were you playing at tonight?" Marvolo asks, he drinks a rich liquid that smells like alcohol. I notice a crystal bottle filled with it on the table.

Getting up I grab one of the glasses nearby, then pour some of the liquid into it. Marvolo looks on as I drink it. It tastes sweet and wet but has an unmistakable bite of alcohol to it. "I was hoping to make an impression," I reply, wiggling my eyebrows as I finish the glass.

"You didn't even let Drusus get a question in," Marvolo replies, his eyebrow twitching slightly.

I lean over, filling up glass up again. "Relax, the Capitol loved me," I reply, smiling back at him.

"You got a 0 for a Training Score and kissed some Capitol citizens. All the major Sponsors weren't sitting near the audience right now you're about as likable as a slug."

Marvolo's words are harsh, but they don't feel serious. And the liquid in my belly feels like confidence. "Relax, I'll prove myself in the arena. Besides, I don't need Sponsors. I have Esme and an alliance." I break into a broad smile when I think of the girl from District 6.

Marvolo opens his mouth like he is going to say something, then close it again. He gets up abruptly. "Don't say I didn't warn you," he replies before walking off to where Alice went. To Carolyn's room.

"I don't need you anyway!" I yell back, throwing the glass in his direction it shatters on the floor. He doesn't look back.

 **Caroline Hollyhock, 17, District 5.**

My hands have had a shake since the interviews, it hasn't left. Even in the long shower, I had to try and relax my body continued to tremble. Maybe that makes what I'm doing now stupid, but it needs to be done.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror, I seem to have aged a year in a day. Maybe I'm just overreacting, but the bags under my eyes look like bruises and my skin is as pale as it has ever been.

The kicks started softly, I thought it was just nervousness or butterflies. But the medic told me it wasn't. I am feeling my unborn child. The same one that may never grow old. We could both be dead in less than a day.

Taking scissors in my shaking hands I press them against a lock of my ginger hair. It is bright as flames, it will only hinder me in the arena. Anton loved my hair and Alyssa loved it because _I was always easy to find_. I can't afford to be easy to find in the arena.

One lock is chopped, then another, flaming hair falls into the sink of my bathroom. My hands continue to shake. The cuts are ragged and mismatched, but at least they are something. I was too afraid to cut it before, in case the Stylists had a problem with the drastic change. But now I'm free to do what I want. I refuse to die because my hair gave me away.

The scissors drop out of my hands, down into the sink with the lumps of hair. I have to search through it to find them again, covered in the stuff. I used to love my hair too.

Scissors snip again and again in the harsh white lights. I hiss as I cut my ear, crimson blood starts to sliver its way down my ear, trailing a path down my neck and underneath the shirt I wear. It's warm and wet.

A squeak of the bathroom door causes me to jump in fright, the scissors go flying out of my hands and back into the sink as my heartbeat accelerates and my hands shake more. My body may as well be jelly for all the good it is doing.

"Relax, it's just me," a deep voice states. It's Ollie.

I look down in shame, my cheeks turning pink. I did not tell him what I had to announce tonight, he would have had no idea. I blindsided my alliance before the Games even began. Who would want to ally with someone like that?

But "let me help," is all he says. Fishing the scissors out of my hair he carefully snips at the rough edges and jagged lines I created. Hair falls all around us, less than half into the sink. "How short do you want it?" He asks.

"As short as you can go," I reply simply.

After a few minutes, he is done. I look back up and into the mirror, it's as good a cut as I could get anywhere in my district. "Where did you learn to do that?" I ask him, meeting his eyes through the reflection.

"Part of my profession," he admits. I'm not the only one keeping secrets.

"Would you like to feel her? She's kicking every now and then," I tell him. I'm not sure what lead me to make the offer, but I know that I can trust Ollie.

He looks back in surprise before he kneels down on the floor next to me, placing a hand on my belly. "How do you know she's a girl?" He asks, not meeting my gaze.

"I just know," I reply, as the baby starts to kick.

 **Esme Layton, 17, District 6.**

"I need to talk to you," I tell Adam, our male mentor. He was the one that got the Peacekeepers to stop beating Riley. Officially, he's Jerry's mentor but seeing as our female mentor, Demica, is an addict he has taken both of us under his wing.

"Walk this way," he tells me. Getting up from his sitting position on one of the plush couches. Jerry has gone to bed so I don't have to worry about interrupting him. He's still continued to ignore me since joining up with the Careers. A decision that is looking less and less rational every passing moment.

Instead of walking off towards one of the bedrooms he leads me down a hallway I thought had a dead end. My eyebrows raise when he opens a small glass sliding door. Stepping out there is an immediate chill to the air, I walk out with him.

It's a balcony, overlooking the Capitol. Below and around us a million lights are light, combating the darkness of the night. I stare in amazement at all of the light, looking up I see bursts of colored light accompanied with booming noise. I watch wide-eyed as several more lights seem to explode in the air.

"Fireworks," Adam explains, "they are celebrating the interviews." I snort at his words, we are 24 of the most famous citizens of Panem. The flick of a lighter gets attention and when I tear my eyes off of the lights I see Adam lighting up a cigarette. "It's the only thing that stops my hands shaking," Adam explains, a sheepish grin on his face.

"Can I have one?" I ask as its scarlet eye lights up his face. He bursts out into a rough laughter, his stormy eyes locked with mine for a moment longer than necessary.

"Of course you smoke," he laughs, passing over the already light cigarette. I take a long puff before passing it back to him, our smoke colliding as we pass the cigarette back and forth. I'm reminded of the night before my Reaping, of Jerry's brother and the bar.

"Were you really involved with Jerry's brother?" Adam asks, echoing my thoughts.

I laugh at the absurdity of it. "For a night," I explain. Adam laughs again.

"That must've made things pretty awkward," he mutters.

"Not really," my face contorts into a frown. "We we're doing pretty good until I got with the Careers," I explain.

"Ah yes, your brightest decision," Adam teases me. I punch him softly in the shoulder. He looks back with an expression of mock hurt on his face.

"You said it was a good idea," I remind him.

"People can change their minds," he frowns. Looking over at me, his dark hair blends into the night and facial hair mask his true expression. His eyes are tired.

"I think I'm changing mine," I tell him, grabbing the cigarette from him I take the last puff. He pulls another one out of his pocket, it's going to be one of those nights.

"Just after the interviews the girl from District 9 approached me, offered me a place in her alliance if I turn on the Careers," the words rush fro my lungs.

Adam raises his eyes, despite the cigarettes my hands tremble. He notices, placing a warm hand on mine for support. "What are you going to do?" He asks me quietly.

I raise my eyes at him, "You're my mentor, aren't you supposed to tell me that?" I ask him, wanting desperately for someone to help me make this choice.

He laughs at me, placing the cigarette in my lips for me he takes a deep breath. A furrowed expression on his handsome face. "Well, do you want to spend your whole Games pleasingBlake?" He asks.

"Of course not," while I need to flirt with him to stay in the alliance it's pretty clear what he wants from me. "He would kill me without a second thought when he's done." Adam nods his head with my words.

"What about this other alliance, what do you think of the people in it?" He asks me, his expression dark.

"I trust the boy, Oliver, I've had a few conversations with him. Caroline has to trust us, seeing as her position, I'd trust her. Kalista scares me, but I think I trust her, I think we would get along quite well." Puzzling it out loud I realize I only really have the opinion.

"And they will be easier to turn on when the time comes," Adam says.

"When should I turn on the Careers?" I ask, my expression dark.

"If you do, I'd say the first night. Their guards will be down at that stage. You just have to deal with whatever Blake might do before the chance arises." He rolls his eyes as he stamps the second cigarette butt under his boot.

We stand there for a moment longer in the silence, watching the fireworks go off before Adam turns toward me. "You did a good job in the interviews tonight," he praises. Patting his pockets he searches for a final cigarette.

"You're going to get me addicted the night before the Games," I joke, taking a puff.

"You're already too far gone for that," he replies teasingly.

"But thank you, I had fun up there," I reply, smirking as I remember what I said. Maybe I wasn't the most fearsome, but I certainly made the audience laugh.

Adam nods before taking the cigarette out of my mouth, he inhales as he looks at my face. Placing a hand on my cheek he tilts my head up, so we are staring right into each other's eyes. He moves a stray strand of hair out of my face, I smile softly at him.

He holds it a moment longer before moving his hand away, "Take your earrings out for the Games, you don't want them getting caught." His voice is deep and slightly husky.

I nod, starting to remove them. After a few minutes of our silence, my ears are bare. "Better?" I ask him as he tamps the final cigarette out.

"Much," he replies, his teeth gleaming into a smile in the low light.

"You should probably get some sleep," he tells me, "it will be the last good night you'll get in a while."

"I'm not tired," I tell him.

"Besides, I don't feel like being alone."

 **Nirvana Ivanov, 18, District 7.**

Willow and I have been talking for the past little while, about the interviews mostly. She's afraid of some of the others, I'm not. Arrogance seemed to be the emotion of the night, only one Tribute could show it the best. Me.

"If you could kill any of the others right now, who would you kill?" I ask her, raising one eyebrow.

Laughter bubbles from her lips at my absurd question as she lies back on my bed. We are in my room tonight.

"No repercussions?" She asks, her voice dangerous.

"No repercussions," I confirm, poking my tongue out at her.

"Blake." The name is full of venom.

I laugh out loud, it booms around us in the luxurious space. Willow catches on and soon we are both laughing, it's almost hysterical.

"Don't you like him? I tease when the laughter dies out.

Willow mimes puking, "I can't stand him," she confirms.

"Why, do you find _this_ distracting?" I parody, jumping on the bed next to her I thrust my crotch out just like Blake. She bursts into laughter at the absurdity of it all, moving closer she wacks me on the stomach. I tense the muscles and don't feel a thing.

I poke my tongue out at her again, it almost reaches her face. "I caught him and Esme making out yesterday at training," I inform her.

"Gross," she says, rolling her body over so I now face her back. "Its clear to anyone with a brain she's using him for protection."

I laugh, shifting slightly closer to Esme. My breath tickles her neck hairs as I reply, "I think it's kinda cool. Who says you can't have a little fun in the arena?" I ask, her hairs stand on end.

"Until you have to kill each other," she mumbles back, not looking in my direction. "It's clear to see Blake is going to kill her as soon as he's bored."

"Maybe," I reply, getting even closer. My lips brush her ear and I feel her shiver, "but that comes from the uneven power dynamic. Two people from the same District would never have that problem." I hear her breath hitch in her throat.

"Unless one of them got an eleven, and the other an eight," she replies in barely a whisper.

"If you want to know how I got the eleven, you'll need to face me," I offer. She's been begging me to know since it happened. But I stayed tight-lipped. She won't refuse this offer.

After a moment's hesitation she turns her body, we face each other with barely any distance. Just enough to breathe. "I destroyed their edible plant's machine, chopped it with an axe. Then I decapitated some of the mannequins." I can tell that Willow is searching my face for a lie, but it's not there.

She bursts out laughing, causing her body to come even closer to mine. "So Weft was right, they really do just want you dead," she says.

I raise one eyebrow, "I might be too dangerous to be in an alliance with," I tease. Her left eyebrow twitches.

"I could have told you that from the first day of Training," she replies. "You're a danger to be around."

'Yet, you still wanted an alliance," I reply.

"I still want one now," she replies.

She meets my eyes. There is a pink blush on her cheeks. "Do you still want me to change strategies?" I ask her, remembering our conversation on the third day of training. Her face blushes deeper as she remembers it too.

"Arrogance is overplayed," she stammers out.

"I'll take that as a yes," I whisper as I move my lips toward hers.

 **Violet Mercury, 14, District 8.**

I thrash about under my sheets, terrified about what is to come. Tomorrow the other Tributes will be trying to kill me, tomorrow I will be trying to kill them.

I wonder what Jasper is going to think.

When he sees me killing the other Tributes. When he might see me killed. I wonder if he is going to watch the Games with my parents.

I can picture that.

Him sitting with the both of them on the couch. My father's arm wrapped around my mothers as they watch the Games play out tomorrow. Watch my scared face when I look around at the others. Watch as a pick up a weapon and take it to another Tribute. Watch as another Tribute takes theirs against me.

The thoughts swirl and swirl. I won't see my mentor, Lea tomorrow. She has given me my last final pieces of advice tonight. There was not much substance to it. It's pretty clear that she does not believe that District 8 will have a Victor this year.

I have to believe that we will have a Victor. For my mother and father and Jasper. I need to come back home to them. I need to be a Victor.

I've never really thought about it that way before. The word _Victor_ is oddly empty, deprived of all emotions. When I see them walking around there is something different about them. Like what was said at the interviews. They never really recover. Would I really want that for myself?

Would I really want to walk around knowing that I have ended someone else's life?

I don't think I could do it, I don't think I could have that burden on my shoulders. At the Victory tour, you get to see the Tributes families. How would it feel knowing that I killed someone's son or daughter? Saw the grieving faces of their parents?

I couldn't do that.

But no one wins the Games without killing.

I don't think win is the right word anymore.

Those thoughts swirl around my head as I toss and turn in bed. I desperately need sleep for what is to come tomorrow. No matter if winning is right or wrong I know I can't just give up. Jasper would not want that or me, no matter what the cost of coming back is.

 **Kalista Stone, 17, District 9.**

I wake with the sun, staring out of the windows of the Tribute Building it will be the last time that I am ever here. For better or for worse, this will be my last overnight stay inside of the Capitol as a Tribute.

When I come back as a Victor I will be impossibly rich. I will be able to see Bonnie again and buy Ryder a new couch. I hope that Esme takes up my deal to join this alliance, it would be such a shame to waste her in the Careers.

I don't get the chance to eat breakfast and our mentors are nowhere in sight.I am ushered away from Cole without another word. I hope that he does alright out there, he is a nice young man.

A hovercraft appears out of the air, and a ladder drops down. I place my hands on the highest rungs that I can reach, expecting to be able to just climb up them and into the belly of the beast. But an electric current freezes me in place, it seems to vibrate through my very being.

A man in a white coat with a septum piercing approaches me, he smiles a soft smile. "This will only hurt for a moment," he informs me. I don't even to have time to raise my eyes before there is a stab to my forearm. I can't see what has been inserted into me.

"It's a tracking device, so we know where you are in the arena," the man says cheerily. Stroking my cheek he walks away without a backward glance. I don't have time to wonder about the encounter because suddenly the ladder is being automatically pulled upwards. Still frozen in place I can only move my eyes. The movement makes me feel sick.

"They do that to all Tributes," my Stylist informs me after he is pulled up the ladder. The absence of a chip in his arm stabs me in the chest. I am being counted, like cattle for the slaughter. This is really happening. I'm going into the Games.

The craft moves impossibly fast, it feels like we could be merely sitting in our apartment. My Stylist points to two seats and gets me to sit across from him as he rambles last minute advice he has picked up from the Games. Nothing is as valuable as what my mentor has been over with me, but it is still appreciated nonetheless. You would not waste your time giving advice to a Tribute you thought was going to be a bloodbath.

 **Trafalgar "Trav" Zaun, 15, District 10.**

The ladder drops from the hovercraft again when we arrive at the arena. It is situated on the outskirts of the Capitol. From the feel of it we have not been on the hovercraft for long at all. But time has a funny way of moving here and the nerves certainly aren't helping.

Sweat has been trickling down my back since the movement that I woke up, a permanent tremor resides in my hands. We walk down a catacomb, the launching pads are situated underneath the arena itself. It seems like we have walked for days in the gloom before we get to a door with a number 10 painted on it.

The pain is red. Blood red.

It also has a 'T' on it. No expense spared for us Tributes I guess. I figure it would upset some plans if we accidentally walked into Eva's room. We aren't supposed to talk until we are in the Games now. Ready to kill each other. Trust will be nonexistent.

The room is bare, I will be the first and only Tribute in this launch room. After the Games are over these arenas become historic sights. Capitol residents will be able to tour the arena, step where their favorite Tributes died. See where they were killed. There are even reenactments.

The sight of the bloodbath is the most viewed location.

My Stylist allows me breakfast in this room, I nibble at some bread. Anything filled with the Capitol pretentiousness will upset my stomach. Brushing my teeth in the shower my whole body shakes in fear about what is to happen. It won't be long now.

 **Poppy Northrop, 15, District 11.**

It takes me several attempts to get my shaking legs through the holes of the trousers that I have to wear for the arena. Almost as many to put my arms in the shirt. The pants seem to have a cargo design, but they are almost impossibly light. The waistband and cuffs put pressure on my skin the holes are so tight. Yet it is just enough to get used to after walking around in them for a little while.

The shirt is short sleeved, is loose and the sleeves fall to my elbows. It's a breathable material but will not trap heat at all. Thick rubber boots are on my feet and a lightweight jacket has been given as well. My Stylist says while it may not look impressive it will trap body heat extremely well.

A leather belt holds up the pants, nothing too special. At least it's real leather.

I pace back and forth as I wait for the announcement for us to enter the tubes. It was the first thing my eyes trained on when I entered the room. It will take us into the arena, only one of us will get out. The shakes come back.

My Stylist encourages me to eat more but all I can manage are a few meager sips of water. My stomach churns and I throw up the small breakfast I was able to hold down. Dry heaving over the bowl of the toilet I wish that Harvest was here. I will see him soon.

 **Pricilla Winters, 15, District 12.**

A feminine voice announces that it is time to launch. It causes me to jump out of my skin, I tremble so hard my Stylist has to help walk me over to the clear glass tube. I can't swallow, my saliva stuck in my throat. This is the most extreme fear I have ever felt.

I am not ready.

The tube closes around me and I look at my Stylist in panic. She smiles sadly at me and starts to move away from the tube.

This can't be happening. This can't be happening. This can't be happening. I repeat the phrase over and very to myself. If I think it enough it will be true. I will wake up in my bed inside of the District. It will all be a bad dream.

I close my eyes and let the thought be the only thing on my mind.

That is until an unfamiliar smell hits my nose and I am forced to open my eyes.

To look out at the 189th Hunger Games arena.


	35. Brutality (THE BLOODBATH)

**Jerry Kapper, 15, District 6.**

 _60...59...58...57…_

A booming voice starts to count down the time while Jerry struggles to get his breath. He stares around, wide-eyed at the arena around him. It is like nothing he has ever seen before. The ground is course and rocky, it sticks up at jagged angles and looks like it could do some serious damage if fallen onto. It practically is waiting for the flesh of a Tribute.

 _56...55...54...53..._

Jerry looks around, on his left stands the brutish boy from Two. On his right stands the small girl from Ten. His heart beats faster and faster in his chest, his knees start to shake. _I cannot fall off of the pedestal. If I fall off I will die._ The thoughts swirl around his head again and again, they are the only thing that keeps him in place.

 _52...51...50...49…_

He shields his eyes from the sun as he looks around, but all he can see is the jagged rocks that slope downward to his left. To his right they go upward, into a large cone-shaped mountain that seems to go on forever. In front of him is the cornucopia, it is pointed and jagged just like the terrain. Blending it, it could almost be another one of the rocks underneath the pedestals. Almost. Jerry is too afraid of falling to turn around and see what is behind him.

 _48...47...46...45…_

Jerry looks toward the cornucopia, scattered all around it are gleaming weapons. Even more than at the training center they glitter under the harsh sun. Backpacks, bags and baskets are also scattered, some only ten meters away they entice Jerry. _I could run in and grab a backpack, its so close, I could be out of here and with the alliance in no time._

 _44...43...42...41…_

 _The alliance said they were going to go down hill, no matter where that lead. Down hill and straight, that was the agreement. I can get the backpack and find them there._ The thought is planted into Jerry's mind. Any supplies would help him an infinite amount, for he is not sure if he has done quite enough to gain the Sponsor's attention.

 _40...39...38...37…_

There is an unfamiliar smell in the air. Many Tributes can be seen sniffing out for it, caught off guard. Its tangy and smells like salt. Any Tribute from Four would recognize it instantly. And so they have, Blake has a huge smile on his face. Carolyn stares ahead like usual, scowling at the ground.

 _36...35...34...33…_

Jerry's eyes fix on a backpack just over ten meters away. He's confident that he can make it in time. _Grab the backpack then left._ He hopes that he will find a weapon inside of it, a weapon will be what he needs to survive the Games. He hopes desperately that there might be a club inside of it.

 _32...31...30...29…_

The time is ticking lower and lower and Jerry's heart has started beating faster and faster in his chest. A gust of wind that smells like salt and seaweed hits his back, it's enough to make him stumble forward. He holds his breath, squeezing his eyes closed he screams internally. He can't step off the platform. He can't. His legs turn to jelly.

 _28...27...26...25..._

He needs to steady himself. He wants that backpack. He needs that backpack. He wonders if any others in his alliance are going to go for supplies too. Jerry's mentor told him to avoid the bloodbath, but the supplies will be invaluable. He _needs_ them to survive. This whole Game will be risking his life. _What's one more to it?_

 **Flint Fraser, 13, District 12.**

 _24...23...22...21…_

Flint keeps his head up. His eyes are wide and alert, trying to take in all of the arena at once. The wind billows his jacket around him and threatens to knock his glasses off of his nose. He grits his teeth, determination coursing through him as he adjusts the copper wire on his glasses slightly. They now wrap tightly around his ears, pressing into his nose. It's uncomfortable, but they won't fall off.

 _20...19...18...17…_

In front of Flint is the opposite end of the cornucopia to Jerry. What is blocked from Jerry's view is the treeline that can just be seen from the very corner of Flint's eye to the right. His left is blocked completely by the cone-shaped rocks protruding above the ground. But from here, Flint can see a small opening right at the bottom of them.

 _16...15..14...13…._

 _My alliance said to go to lower ground. That's the lowest that I can find._ Flint thinks to himself, reading to run into the cave. But it is far away, and the ground rolls up and down in miniature hills made of the jagged stones. Flint is not sure how fast he will be able to run on it, but he must go as fast as possible. He needs to get to the cave before he is spotted. Or before the Careers get to the weapons.

 _12...11...10...9…_

 _I can do this. I will see my sister again. I will see my mother again._ Flints mind is bursting and his stomach is sinking deeper and deeper into the ground as the timer ticks lower and lower. He never learned how to count to 60, Flint that is. Always getting muddled at some point, he understands the pattern to it. But forgets the order. Maybe it's his stunted growth. Maybe its because the teachers seemed to forget about him. Maybe it's because nobody bothered to ask if he could.

 _8...7...6...5…_

Flint would never be forgotten about if he was to win the Games. Everyone across all of Panem would know his name. The little babies and the elders in the Districts alike. He could buy his sister everything she could ever want to tinker with in her shed and plant trees all over their backyard in the Victors Village for his mother. They could live a happy life.

 _4...3...2...1…_

The gong goes off and Flint is frozen for a moment, it is too real. He is in the Games. Then he shakes it off as he watches the boy from One rush toward the cornucopia. Flint sticks his arms out, running not unlike he did on his way to the reapings he tries to keep his balance under the rough stones and jagged edges. It is harder than it looks.

He bites his lip as he continues, he is afraid to look up.

But in his not looking up he misses a protruding rock. His boot connects with it a moment later, sending the boys head soaring over his heels he hits the ground hard. The jagged rock cuts into him and he cries out as he feels a shard of it go into his hand that he threw out to try and catch his weight. His palm is bloody and still sits on the jagged rock. Flint knows that he needs to move but he trembles so badly that he stumbles again, falling back onto the rock tears threaten his vision.

He only looks up when he notices a shadow over top of him.

 **Blake Calloun, 17, District 4.**

Blake looks down to see the puny boy from Twelve. He wanted the pregnant one. But he will be so easy it's hard for Blake to resist. The boy has tears in his eyes when Blake brings his boot down, stamping as hard as he can on the boy's hand that is on top of a spike.

There is a sickening crunch when it goes from one side of his hand to the other. The boy cries out in pain, so loudly Ace turns his head to see what is going on. But he looks back when another Tribute runs at him, swords colliding it a metallic clang.

Blake can hear the rushing of boots behind him and rolls his eyes as the boy cries out in pain beneath him. The boy's eyes go wide and he starts to scream and thrash around as Blake holds his Trident to the air, Blake still pinning his hand under his boot.

It is remarkably quick, Blake drives his trident into the skull of the boy. It makes a sickening squishing sound as it enters the brain. He goes limp almost immediately. It's almost comical when Blake has to get the spike back out again, the head of the boy goes with it. A grotesque puppet the spike is lodged in his skull. Blake crushes the boy's ribcage as he holds the boots torso down with his boot, pulling the trident back up and out.

He smiles as he hears the sound of screams all around him.

 **Harvest Kohl, 15, District 11.**

Harvest rushes toward the cornucopia, his eyes are trained on a large duffle bag that reflects the light. Shooting forward he scoops it over one of his shoulders, but he tumbles on the rocks. He falls against the jagged edges. They slice into the palms of his hands and blood ruins through his fingers.

"Harvest!" Poppy yells from afar, he can see her rushing over towards him. This jump starts his mind. He jumps upward, wincing in pain as he rushes toward her. But another Tribute has the same idea and has made her way over to them as well.

The girl from Twelve rushes at harvest, drawing a long blade she slashes at Harvest, creating a large gash down his left arm. Harvest cries in pain as he stumbles away, shielding Poppy with his body he tries to get her away from the weapon.

The knife slashes again and the girl looks hysterical as she continues to charge at Harvest and Poppy, tears running down her cheeks as she jerks the blade up and down. Harvest takes a leap toward her suddenly, Poppy cries out as he pushes the girl with all his might, she sprawls on the ground.

Harvest runs as fast as he can over the uneven ground with Poppy. Glancing back he can see another Tribute going towards the girl. He can't help but watch as the girl from Four finishes the girl off. Taking a trident she stabs the girl from Twelve in the chest, killing her instantly.

Harvest cried out when he witnesses her death. Mixed emotions churning through him at the girl who tried to end his life. He has tears streaming down his cheeks as he runs away with Poppy. Not noticing in what direction or terrain they are heading for.

 **Ace Platinum, 18, District 1.**

Ace drives his sword upward as another blade clashes into it, ringing out all around the Tributes. It's the boy from Nine. Ace has no idea why he has decided to attack him, but he is now faced with the Tributes blade mere centimeters from his neck.

The rough ground is meaning it is hard for him to keep his footing, but the younger boy is struggling a lot more than the well-trained Career. That is until someone else joins him. The boy from Eight rushes to the side of the boy from Nine. Together, they start to rush toward Ace, brandishing long swords.

Ace has a moment of panic _why are they targeting me?_ He thinks desperately, surely someone like Nate would be more of a threat. All of the other Careers seem to be fighting on the opposite side of the cornucopia and Ace grits his teeth. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Blake disposing of a Tribute and assumes he will come to help. But the Tribute does not even glance Ace's way before rushing off, his eyes on another target.

Ace faces off against the two fifteen-year-olds. He knows he can take them, but two against one is never easy, no matter how poorly or well trained they are. The boy from Nine got a seven.

They suddenly lunge forward, Ace jumps out of the way of one of the blades but the other nicks his shoulder. Scraping it deeply. Ace hisses in pain but he uses his forward momentum to bowl over the boy from Eight. He cries out as he hits the jagged rocks, his head bouncing.

The boy from Nine charges again, swinging his sword level to Ace's eyes the older boy barely dodges out of the way in time, the blade skims some of his hair. Pale clumps fall around Ace. Ace takes another deep breath, spotting the boy from Eight starting to get up he charges forward, swinging his sword lower he carves into the boy from Nines hip, he struggles to pull the blade out again when it embeds itself to the bone.

The boy from Nine falls as Ace rips the blade out but he has no time to finish him off before the boy from Eight is charging at him again, Aces blade is sticky from blood and it hangs too loosely in his grip. He knows what is going to happen but can only watch in horror as the blade slips out of his fingers as he jerks backward, away from the other boys swinging blade.

The boy from Nine gets up despite his pain- Cole. His name has suddenly come to Ace. He picks up Aces fallen blade as the two boys rush against him again. Ace rushes backward, avoiding the blades narrowly his shoulder has started to sting like a burn. The boy got him deeper than he wants to admit.

Ace looks in horror as the boys charge once again, panting they come from each side of Ace. Ace knocks the blade out of the boy from Eights hands as he propels himself toward him, in a glorified rugby tackle he throws the boy behind him. He hits the ground hard. His head making a hollow thunk against the ground. He does not make any attempt to get up.

Cole runs at Ace, brandishing both swords in his hands Ace leaps out of the way yet again, unable to pick up the boy from Eights dropped the sword. Sweat drips into his eyes, Cole charges yet again and Ace dives out of the way. Only this time he miss-judges his lunge. He hits the ground at an angle and falls, the jagged ground piercing his skin. Cole wastes no time, soon he is on top of Ace, his swords ready to come down. _I'm sorry Tiffany, I'm sorry Prince, I love you both._ Ace thinks as he closes his eyes.

 **Cassia Slander, 16, District 2.**

Her arms work before her brain has processed the situation in front of her. She throws her dagger with as much force as she can muster, milliseconds will count. She throws another one soon after, and another after that. She is left unarmed.

She watches as the first dagger hits its mark. It embeds itself into the forehead of the boy from Nine. The next daggers pierce each of his hands, propelling the swords away from Ace his fingertips are still locked into a grip. The boy's body falls several meters away from Ace with the force of the daggers that have been thrown.

Ace's eyes snap open at the sound and he looks up in wonder, his face showing the sweet relief of life. He smiles as Cassia gratefully before his eyes go wide. Cassia does not have time to think about why before she hits the ground.

Her vision sways in front of her, her head hit the ground almost as hard as the boy from Eights when Ace threw him. The world spins in front of her, she barely sees who the Tribute is who is suddenly on top of her. The boy from Seven.

"Not so special now, are you sweetheart?" He whispers to her venom clear in his voice. In the Capitol, there would be something fitting about this matchup. Training scores of eleven and twelve taking each other on. But there is nothing fitting about in in the arena. Cassia can not even remember his name. She feels the urge to vomit but can't with his weight crushing her chest, she gasps for breath.

"Not so special at all," the boy replies, a malicious smile lighting up his face. "It's a shame we can't have more time together, there are all kinds of things I'd love to do to you." He whispers close to her ear. Cassia feels something wet drip down her cheek. A tear.

Her eyes remain open when he starts to swing his weapon downward, an axe. She has no strength left to close them. The axe caters down, Cassia can feel the wind it is creating and finds she has no final thoughts. _I have no one left to care_ she thinks to herself as she takes her final breaths.

 **Nathaniel Mattingly 18, District 2.**

Nate propels his body sideways, not thinking for himself at all in his blind panic he boosts off of the ground. Impossibly afraid that he will be too late. He collides with the figure as the blade of an axe goes whooshing through the air. It partially slices into Nates chest as he pushes the figure away. Sending them catering onto the ground Nates attention is gone from them almost instantaneously. He holds the axe clutched in his hand as blood trickles down his chest.

He looks to Cassia who was pinned to the ground, her eyes stare unseeing ahead. "Cassia?" Nate asks, his voice sounding rougher than intended with the nervousness of his heart.

"Nate?" She whispers back. Euphoria courses through Nates veins as he kneels next to Cassia, taking a hand of hers in his own.

"It's going to be okay," he tells her as the bloodbath rages on around them.

 **Carolyn Aquana, 17, District 4.**

Carolyn charges to where she saw Nate throw a boy off of Cassia. Throwing a knife it embeds itself into the thigh of the boy who she cannot name. His body is turned away from her, she can only see the pants and boots they have all been given.

But when he cries out in pain her blood turns cold. She stares into the eyes of the worst person possible. Nirvana.

"Please, help me," the boy begs, his eyes showing pain. Blood dribbles down his chin and arms where Nate threw him against the ground and his thigh has seized up from the knife thrown.

Carolyn takes a moment to think, her plan is about to be ruined. "You better remember this," she whispers as she pulls him up. Making it looks like she was fighting him to anyone looking she charged his body away from hers. Locking with him at the stomach, not unlike the tackle Ace did to the boy from Eight she gets Nirvana away from the worst of the carnage.

Looking around briefly she sends him in the direction of the huge mountain. "There's a path that cuts down the side of it," she points to a narrow ledge. "Go now," she pushes him away. She thinks that she sees another figure dart out and support him when he gets to the ledge, but she can't be sure.

 _Fuck_ she yells to herself. Getting out one of her daggers she drags it across her own face, missing her eye and nose she makes a deep gash. Hissing with the pain she stumbles her way over toward where she can see Ace.

 **Trafalgar Zaun, 15, District 10.**

Trav panicked when the Games began, wanting supplies for their alliance they rushed toward the first backpack they could find. But another Tribute wanted to too and they were stronger than Trav. In their panic, Jerry didn't remember the alliance and pried the backpack from Trav's hands before rushing to lower ground. Everyone is an enemy today.

They rushed toward the cornucopia, using their small hight to their advantage they have managed to hide with the barrels of supplies inside. At their feet they feel a smooth object, picking it up a knife glimmers in the light. Panic sets in. They need to get out of here before the Careers try to get more supplies.

But movement at the mouth of the cornucopia gets their attention and they shuffle back into the furthest and darkest corner they can find. Trembling they hold the knife up, ready to try and fend off whoever has just come in.

They barely recognize the figure without any hair. It's Caroline. The pregnant girl. "Don't hurt me!" She squeezes, noticing the knife that Trav holds. After only a moment's hesitation, they lower the knife.

"What are you doing here?" Trav whispers to her, wary of the older woman.

"Getting supplies," Caroline explains, rushing around she grabs packets of whatever she can find and stuffs it into a large hiking backpack. Trav is frozen in fear.

"We run out together, okay?" Caroline tells him the plan. Trav can only nod, not wanting to put their trust in a complete stranger but without a choice, they grab the first thing they can find. A loaf of bread before following Caroline to the entrance.

"On three," Caroline whispers to Trav, surveying the battlefield in front of them.

"One, two.." Trav preps themselves to run. But instead of saying three Caroline lets out a blood-curdling scream. It stops a couple of Tributes dead in their tracks as she rushes away from the cornucopia, toward the forest that can barely be seen.

Trav was taken aback and has stood still for a moment too long. The girl from One's eyes lock with his and before Trav knows it a knife has been thrown in their direction. It embeds itself into Trav's kneecap and they fall letting out a scream in pain and anger. _I let myself be tricked_ they think to themselves angrily.

 _I let myself be tricked and I'm the one paying for it I wish I could-_ another knife is thrown and it carves into Trav's brain. Going through the language center of their brain their final thoughts never realized.

 **Weiss Forge, 18, District 1.**

Weiss turns on her heels when she notices a blur of movement to her right, she posies a knife to throw. "Don't shoot!" A voice cried out, Esmes. She doesn't lower her knife, this girl doesn't even deserve to belong to the Careers.

Weiss could take her out, just like that. Snuff that pretty little life right out of her, blame it on another Tribute. No one would be any the wiser. Well, only all of Panem. But it's not like they can share that little secret.

But then she sees a blur of back hair behind Esme. "Duck!" She yells with as much force as she can muster as the blade sails toward Esme. Her eyes goes wide-eyed in shock. Dropping she hits the ground on her stomach, grazing it on the harsh rocks as the blade caters over her. Into the leg of the girl from Ten.

Weiss rushes over as the girl tries to stumble her way away, trying to get down the slope. Weiss catches her easily. Esme in her wake as she faces off with the girl. The girl is tiny, tears spotting her eyes. "Please...please don't hurt me…." she stutters out. Weiss has a thought, she looks over to Esme.

"Kill the girl and you're one of us. If you don't kill her you have ten seconds to leave." Weiss hisses at her, her voice hard as stone. Esme's eyes go wide. "Nine," Weiss tells her, tapping her foot impatiently. Esme takes a shaky breath.

Esme holds a sword in her right hand and takes a step toward the girl from Ten. She scurries backward, her eyes fearful. She moans in pain from where Weiss's dagger has hit her. "Eight," Weiss's voice has become annoyed. She throws another dagger from hand to hand, ready to use it against either one of the girls.

Esme takes a deep breath before she takes two quick steps forward and swings her sword as hard as she can muster. The head of the girl from Ten goes clean off and starts rolling down the embankment. Weiss feels a sadistic smile creeping up of her face as blood starts to pool around them. That is, until a figure darts past. Almost slipping in the blood they shoot like a bullet down the hill. Closely followed by a Career.

 **Violet Mercury, 14, District 8.**

Blake rushes down the hill, chasing the girl who went under their radar for so long. Her dirty blonde hair fans out behind her, almost in grasping distance of Blakes' fingers as he reaches out to try and grab Violet.

She lets out another burst of speed as the ground flattens out. Barely noticing the shallow water that she is now wading through. _Don't let him catch you. Don't let him catch you._ The thought bounces around her mind like a basketball. It matches her heartbeat.

She stumbles through knee-high water, its saltiness stinging cuts she gained from the harsh ground as she scrambled down the hill. But then the water gets a little bit deeper. It's like hitting a wall. She stumbles and her face is dunked underneath the water which feels impossibly hot but impossibly cool at the same time.

Bubbles escape from her lips in the water as she reaches for air. But just before she breaks the surface a hand clamps around her neck. It holds her under another couple of moments and Violet sucks in a mouthful of water in her panic and shortness of breath.

Water streams down her eyes and salt sting at them as she surfaces, taking a lungful of air she splutters water out. But then it is gone too soon and she is dunked underneath the water again, the fingers on her neck becoming painfully tight they seem to dig into her flesh. She screams out underneath the water, sucking in more of its saltiness she can no longer hold her breath.

She is forced upward of the water again, no longer able to flail about she tries to suck in air to lungs partially full of water. Her face is forced around by a painfully hard grip to the grin as she stares into the eyes of the boy from Four, she has no energy left to scream when he dunks her for a final time. Grinning gleefully.

* * *

 **Authors note: There it is, it sounds insane to of got the bloodbath done. I'm sorry if one of your Tributes died that wasn't designed bloodbath, this is just what I decided on.**

 **24th: Flint Fraser, 13, District 12. Killed by Blake. Created by iridescenteverdeen** **. Flint became one of my favorite characters and I shed some tears thinking that he had to go. He was just too young and too scrawny. His persistence optimism followed him to the end and I'll miss him.**

 **23rd: Pricilla Winters, 15, District 12. Killed by Carolyn. Created by Mewkitcat** **. Pricilla fought to the end, her fear leading her to turn on those she probably could have trusted. Her family will miss her deeply, its almost fitting that she followed her District Partner out.**

 **22nd: Weft Loomis, 15, District 8. Killed by Ace. Created by** **destiny's sweet melody. Weft has a hard life, he had a solid plan but unfortunately was carried away by talk of alliances and those he trusted. His interview will be remembered as one of the best and his quirky sarcasm will be missed. He's with his mother and sister now.**

 **21st: Cole Rockweld, 15, District 9. Killed by Cassia. Created by The-Moth-God. Cole was a Tribute I think many expected to go far inside the Games. He almost did, but the true worth of alliances was shown at his expense. Cole did not go easily and he will leave his mark in the Games with the injuries he inflicted on Ace. He died fighting, Barrick can be proud of that.**

 **20th: Trafalgar Zaun, 15, District 10. Killed by Weiss. Created by 66samvr. Trav, they were different from any other Tribute I have seen before. They were so interesting to write and almost made it away. They can find solace in the friend they made in Eva, the true acceptance of their identity she had. But it is a bittersweet ending.**

 **19th: Eva Brath, 14, District 10. Killed by Esme. Created by Team Shadow. Eva was never designed to win these Games and I think most people saw that. I added a lot of backstory to this Tribute myself and she will always have a special spot. She can be with her sisters and father now, the hope that her youngest sister is not reaped will live on with the Capitol. That's all she ever wanted.**

 **18th: Violet Mercury, 14, District 8. Killed by Blake. Created by Booklovin'03. Violet, like Eva was never meant to win these Games. I think she knew that too. I think she would be okay with that, she wasn't sure if she wanted to win. Jasper will surely mourn her and her death will affect the District. It just wasn't meant to be.**

 **I'm sorry again to anyone who's Tributes died on the Bloodbath that was not designed for it. But ultimately, it had to happen. You can still stay active in the story by Sponsoring other Tributes if you would like.**

 **Thank you for reading. Let me know whos deaths surprised you? What were you expecting?**

 **May the odds be ever in your favor,**

 **And,**

 **Thank you for your sacrifice.**

* * *

 **Sponsoring Information:**

Sponsoring is now open to your Tributes, or any Tributes that you would like to sponsor.

To Sponsor please stay active on the story and then PM me following this form;

Who would you like to Sponsor?

What would you like to Sponsor them?

Why do they deserve the item?

How could they use it to win?

What has been your favorite moment so far inside of the story?

You don't have to do huge answers to the questions, a sentence would do.


	36. Melancholy (GAMES -DAY 1)

**Nathaniel Mattingly 18, District 2.**

"Let's move to the shore," Nates voice is commanding and the others get up off of the scarlet ground. Several wince as they start down a hill, being careful not to slip on the jagged rocks. In the distance, long hair ducks into a grove of trees. But none of the Careers notice it. Preoccupied with their own thoughts and arrogance that no one would dare take them on. An arrogance slightly less pronounced since the bloodbath.

They help each other down the rocks. Showing a bizarre show for those who should be at the top of the Games. "So, whos not injured?" Weiss asks, smirking slightly

"I'm not," Blake boasts, puffing his chest out.

"I'm mostly not," Esme replies softly. She is staring at the sword in her hands. It's covered in still wet blood. She no longer thinks about how she almost died from mistrust. Instead, her mind is on the girl that she ended the life of. Nausea rolls from her stomach when she climbs down, past the head. It's far away from the body.

Nate, Ace, and Carolyn stay quiet. Blood dripping to the rocks underneath them from the injuries they have sustained. Cassia does not reply, seemingly not hearing the question. The body that Blake drowned has sunk to the bottom of the water, she ran a fair distance out. The hovercraft should be able to grasp her bloated remains.

"That's three and a half out of seven," Ace laughs despite his injury.

"At least we got all of the kills," Carolyn growls. She has entered the water, sitting in the shallow bed she cups some of the water in her hands and is using it to wash the cut on her face. Wincing as the salt gets into the gash.

The other Tributes quickly join her. The water turning slightly pink from the blood that is being drained from warm bodies into it. Ace winces as he picks gravel out of the gash on his shoulder, Nate starts to do the same to himself. A stony silence surrounds them, heavier than it should be for triumphant Careers. No one died. None feel like celebrating, the adrenaline from the kills has since died and has left this moment. What remains is a group of hurt teenagers.

"Your little pet here got a kill Blake," Weiss says nonchalantly. She has not gone into the water. Instead, she sits on the rocky shore. Her boots off she has placed her feet in the water, it is clear as a mirror in front of her. No traces of the blood coming from the other Tributes. She stares up at the artificial sky.

"She did?" Blake asks loudly, he looks over to Esme. She does not meet his eyes. Staring down at her hands underneath of the water she tries to wash the non-existent blood off of them. But these hands will never be clean again.

"The heads over there," Weiss explains.

Blake bursts out laughing, a roar that should not be heard inside of the arena. There's humor in it, sure, but beneath it is something dark. Something powerful, this Tribute has tasted what it is like to end another's life. And unlike Esme, they enjoyed it more than can be comprehended.

"I told you she was a good idea," Blake boasts wading over to Esme he wraps an arm around her shoulder. She smiles up at him, it's as fake as the sky above them. He leans into her, his lips practically touching her ear. "You know, now you've made your confession at the interviews we can get up to all _kinds_ of stuff." He tells her in a voice as thick as caramel.

She looks up, but not at him. A hovercraft can be seen above them. A high pitched sound only a couple of the Careers can hear comes with it. They all watch as metal claws come down to pick up the bodies that have been left on the jagged rocks. There is a silence so thick even Blake does not try to break it.

"How many were there?" Nate asks, his voice low.

"Seven."

 **Callum Lennon, 18, District 3.**

Callum was next to Talia when the platforms rose. The first lucky thing that has happened inside of these Games. When the bloodbath started he grabbed her hand and they ran on a thin path he saw to the right of the cone-shaped mountains. It was a windy path, made precarious by the large backpack that Callum managed to grab on his way away.

At some points, they were many meters above the harsh sea. Barbed rocks could be seen underneath them as they climbed higher and higher on the mountain. Then they started to descend again, falling lower and lower they were brought back to the sea level behind the mountains. Sweat dripping off of their bodies.

They started hearing voices carried on the bitter wind a few minutes ago. Despite their jackets, they shiver in its frigid breeze. Freezing for a moment on the opposite end of the path they catch their breath. Callum feels pride at how well Talia is doing, she has not batted an eyelid at the harsh terrain.

"Look, over there!" Talia points to a dark spot next to a couple of lethal-looking rocks. Callum strains his eyes to try and make out what she has seen. It's an opening.

They take a long look at each other, adrenaline has made their hands shake and their minds foggy with ideas. Too many. The voices behind them carry yet again and they seem to be getting louder. Callum does not know what he has grabbed in his backpack and currently, they are both unarmed. They have not had a moment to stop yet, their only goal to get away. To do it quickly.

"You're sure?" He asks Talia, taking a deep breath. He trusts her intuition more than her own.

She looks at him with finally frightened eyes. The reality of the Games getting to her with the threat of other Tributes nearby. Maybe they could be trusted, maybe not, the pair is not prepared to take that risk. "We don't have another choice," she tells him.

Callum nods, squeezing her hand they rush over to the opening of the cave. The ground has smoothed here, while the mountain remains rocky and ready to bite at flesh. The ground is made of large flat stones, they are warm underneath the Tributes feet despite the thick boots. Callum takes a moment to feel its warmth, wondering what the cave has to hide.

Talia enters the cave first, not looking back. Callum can't quite bring himself to do the same as her. He looks behind him for a moment before taking another step in. At the crashing waves on the shore, at the momentous mountains creating the cove, at the large flat rocks. Then he turns his body, taking a deep breath to try and steady himself.

The cave slopes downward. The entrance has to be squeezed through, Callum scrapes his jacket against the edges, slightly too narrow for his shoulders. But once he gets inside the passageway is wide enough for the two of them to walk side by side. They link hands again as they descend into the belly of the arena.

Quickly, the darkness of the cave becomes too much for their eyes and they have to stop for a break, unable to see the rough ground in front. Talia reaches out, wrapping her body around Callum's he hugs her back. "I'm scared," she whispers to him as they wait for their eyes to adjust.

"I'm scared too," Callum admits. His hands still shake terribly. It is no longer from the adrenaline of the bloodbath, but instead of the reality of witnessing death. He wonders how many Tributes have died. _We won't be able to see the projection_ he thinks to himself gloomily.

Yet, maybe it is a blessing. He won't have to see how many Tributes were killed. How many lives were snuffed out by better-trained Tributes. But he won't be able to see how close he is to winning. He shakes that thought from his mind roughly.

How close Talia is to winning.

 **Willow Ashes, 16, District 7.**

Nirvana groans in pain, his leg dragging roughly on the smooth ground. "Almost there," Willow tells him, trying to make her voice sound optimistic. Though in all truth she has no idea where the _there_ is. She only knows it to be away from the bloodbath.

He just groans again. She lead him down the first path they could find. Around the large cone-shaped mountains, it was tricky terrain and done at a much slower pace than the two Tributes in front of them. It was only because of Nirvana's loud voice did the two other Tributes think these ones were right on their tail. In all reality, they have been descending into the cave for a decent amount of time by the time the other two caught up. But eventually, Willow and Nirvana did make it to the other side. With no clue at how close they were to meet up with another District pair.

Willow spots a slight groove in the side of the harsh mountain and leads Nirvana over to it. About a hundred meters away water beats harshly at the smooth rocks that the Tributes are now standing on. They are essentially trapped as the opening of the cave seems to of disappeared, or maybe in Willows stress, she does not notice the darker patch of ground marking its entrance.

Nirvana pants up at her, moaning for help at the pain in his leg. Willow finds a brief moment of humor in the whole situation, the boy who has been so cold and superior is now begging for help. Willow knows that his injury surely will hurt, but his attitude is making it out like he is dying. Hell, maybe he is, Willow only knows the crudest medical advice. All taught to her watching previous Games.

She managed to snag a backpack before running from the bloodbath, hiding out she waited for Nirvana. She saw the girl from Four help him and has no idea why she seemed like one of the worst of the bunch. But now is not the time to be questioning the motives for the others, if she still wants an ally she will need to do something quickly.

Inside of her backpack she finds a large knife, some strips of meat, a spare jacket, some extra socks, a line of fishing wire, a canteen full of water, a lighter, a large needle, a bandage, and a teddy bear. She looks at the bear in disgust, of course, the Capitol would find humor in something so useless. At least she has some water.

She goes to take a drink of the water, opening the canteen it's only when she brings it to her mouth does she recognize a sharp scent. She jerks t away, some droplets hitting her pants her heart starts to beat fast again. She doesn't know what is in this canteen. "Can I have some?" Nirvana rasps, he is lying down on the flat stones. Panting, sweat drips down his face in the bucketloads. Willow looks shakily toward him.

"It's not water," she explains. She is ready to fling the Canteen away and cure the Gamemakers for what they have given her. Surely it is poison, designed to injure Tributes too desperate or distracted to notice the scent coming from it. It is like nothing Willow has ever smelled before, it smells like chemicals.

Nirvana looks annoyed, "pass it here," he tells her. Trying to prop his body up against the mountainside. It's still rough but not jagged like further up, it's almost gravel here. Willow rolls her eyes, annoyed at the boy's stubbornness despite his injuries she hands the canteen over. As she does so she notices how bloody his hands are.

She doesn't know how he got so injured, his chest and arms bloody as well as dark spots in his pants where she assumes blood has pooled too. The knife is the biggest thing of concern, but it has stayed embedded in his flesh. It acts as a plug on a sink, keeping the blood inside of him. When it is removed the blood will be able to flow. Willow knows that she needs to get this right. Then Nirvana erupts in an almost joyful laughter, the canteen to his nose. "What is it?" Willow asks.

"It's vodka! Not poison," Nirvana chortles as he takes the canteen to his lips. After he has taken a gulp of it he smiles, "nature's pain relief." He jokes before taking another gulp. Willow looks at him in confusion, surely the last thing he should be doing here is getting drunk. But then something else clicks.

"Don't drink it all!" She shrieks, lunching over she snatches the canteen out of Nirvana's hands. Some joke the Gamemakers pulled, they must be laughing. "We can use it as a disinfectant," she explains. Marc's mother did that when he fell out of a tree one time, poured Vodka all over his deeply grazed hands.

"We need to take your pants off," Willow explains to Nirvana. Then they can see how deep the knife has embedded itself. See how to get it out.

"Won't be the first time," Nirvana jokes back. Willow turns bright pink in a blush and does not meet his gaze. Instead, she starts to carefully pull his pants down. When she gets to his mid-thigh Nirvana shouts out in pain. She will not be able to stretch the pants over top of the knife. She gets the knife out of her backpack and slices from the top of Nirvana's pants to where the knife sits in his flesh then pulls the two sides apart, effectively avoiding the knife embedded in his leg. She then continues to tug at the pants.

Nirvana has a huge grin on his face but Willow does not see it, concentrating fully on her work. When the pants are on the ground next to them does Willow look back at the knife. The veins around his leg are dark and swollen, his skin puffy from the blood trapped underneath. But luckily for both of them, the knife has missed any veins.

Willow closes her eyes for a moment, she knows that something similar happened in the Games a couple of years ago. Yes, it happened to the girl who ended up Victor. The thought gives her enough of a confidence boost to stretch her mind to the forgotten memory. They pulled the knife out then sewed it up, stitching, Willow's mother has done it to her clothes numerous times. Willow curses her breath, she never bothered to learn.

She smirks as she eyes the teddy bear, picking it up she hands it to a confused Nirvana. "This is going to hurt, a lot. Bite down on that. We can't give our position away." She instructs him as she picks up the fishing line and needle that she found in the backpack.

Taking a deep breath she moves her hands towards the knife. They shake as they grip the handle, Nirvana's skin is warm underneath her shivering body. "On three," Willow explains, yet again not meeting Nirvana's eyes.

"One...Two...Three…" The teddy bear barely muffles Nirvana's screams.

 **Kalista Stone, 17, District 9.**

Woods. Kalista told the alliance that they were going to find the woods after they ran away from the Cornucopia. Her one track mind had not thought of another option, but luck was in her favor. Maybe these Games are luckier than any of the Tributes thought. Or maybe it's beginners luck on the first day.

She waded over water, splashing about her only aim was to get away from the bloodbath before the Careers spotted her. A sliver of blood runs from her collarbone down her arm and then drips off her index finger into the water. It's a painful injury, inflicted by one of the Careers she was too busy dodging out of the way from to look at their face. She thinks it was one of the girls though, whoever it was was uninjured. Despite the pain, she has the biggest grin on her face the Games have seen so far. She has her scythe.

The water was mostly shallow on her way. The pants the Tributes were given create a waterproof seal. But her upper half is wet, she fell off several sandbanks on her way to the island with trees. Flailing around in the water she has just about grasped the basics of how to swim, she hopes that her allies will of been able to navigate the choppy water too. She's relying on her alliance.

Ducking through the cover of trees the scent of decaying leaves immediately hits her nostrils. The scent is the first familiar thing she has come across since setting foot in the arena and she is overjoyed with her weapon and the familiarity. So overjoyed she almost does not hear a twig cracking behind her. Almost.

She spins around a moment later than intended, her scythe raised she is ready to attack whoever is near. The figure is hard to see underneath the dark canopy, poised to attack also the two figures are locked in a tension of not being able to see the others face. It is only when a third figure appears does the tension break, his bulky build and curly hair is recognizable anywhere and the two girls both relax in his presence.

"Calm down guys, we are allies, right? The large figure says, taking a step forward into the light Ollies face appears. Kalista relaxes, lowering her scythe she nods. Caroline does the same after another moment, lowering a machete.

Kalista's eyes rise when she sees all that Caroline carries. It's like she looted the Careers dry. A large hiking backpack sits over her shoulders and items dangle off of it, tied in rushed knots they cling haphazardly. She holds a machete in one hand, in the other is a canteen she takes a long drink out of. Must be water.

"What did you do?" Ollie asks her, admiration in his voice. He is unarmed, holding nothing in either of his hands and an absence of a backpack it's obvious to see he ran straight for the trees. No one blames him.

"Grabbed what I thought we could use," Caroline explains. There is a moment of uneasy silence before Ollie looks to Kalista's face, it has paled. She tries to smile back, but her skin seems too shiny.

Ollies eyes go wide as Kalita collapses, her mind going into a foggy daze she does not even realize that she has hit the ground. Her back resting against an ancient looking tree. He rushes to look her over, trying to find out what could be the cause. He quickly finds the long gash on her collarbone, cursing whoever did it Ollie looks over to where Caroline still stands.

"Give me your medical supplies," Ollie commands. After a moment silently staring back at him, Caroline grabs a bright red first aid kit out of her back and throws it to Ollie. Still standing a fair distance away she merely observes as Ollie threads a needle with sterile string and stitches up the gash.

Once he is done is smothers the stitches with a thick dark liquid he has forgotten the name of but knows wards off infections. He then wraps the arm in a sterile white bandage with another layer overtop with a waterproof sheet that he found in the kit. When he is done he wipes the sweat off of his forehead before searching Kalista for other injuries, now is not a time for modesty. He finds a graze on her knee and elbows so disinfects them also, but nothing else life-threatening.

"How did you learn to do that?" Caroline asks him, her voice monotone.

Confliction can be seen on Ollie's face. It is what Dwayne did to him to nurse him back to health. It is what he has had to help other men with that have been attacked by Peacekeepers because of their profession. Or ones that have not done quite everything that the Capitol residents have requested from them.

"Just part of the job," Ollie jokes. "We need to find somewhere safe to rest until she gains her strength again. Can you lead the way?" He asks Caroline as he squats down, throwing Kalista over his shoulder like a sack he stands again, not really minding having to carry her weight.

Caroline does not reply, she just starts walking deeper into the forest. Her machete glinting in the rapidly falling sun.

 **Poppy Northrop, 15, District 11.**

Harvest has been babbling since they stumbled their way from the cornucopia. A dark trail of stones just underneath the water made bridge not quite visible until extremely close. They stumbled on the rocks. Once Poppy fell off of them and found herself in water impossibly deep. She flailed around until Harvest was able to help her back out despite his pain. Eventually, they reached the other side, a rocky shore with millions and millions of colorful pebbles. An impossible moment of beauty in such a horrible situation. The pebbles were colors of blues, reds, pinks, golds any color that could ever be imagined.

The two of them took a moment to admire where they had found themselves. Until the cannons started to fire. They collapsed onto the beach as they listened to the booms above then. The sound seems to echo in every crevice of the arena. It's the loudest sound that Poppy has ever heard.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

The seven Cannons mark the seven lives that have been lost already. Both Poppy and Harvest are thinking the same thing, how close they came to be one of the sounds. How they witnessed the girl from Twelve meeting the same fate.

Poppy looks over in alarm to Harvest. "Show me your arm," she tells him. He loops sheepishly toward her, embarrassed that he has let himself be injured he sticks out his arm. Some of the cut has started clotting, but the majority of it runs crimson. Splashing on the colorful rocks beneath them.

Poppy opens the large duffle bag slung around Harvests neck. Her eyes lighting up when she spots a medical bag. She takes one of the bandages that she remembers being taught about during training, with one of these they will not need to risk stitches and the infection that can come from allowing them to become unsterile.

She wraps Harvests arm as tightly as she can in the bandage just as the Capitol instructor taught her, applying antiseptic to the side of the bandage and not the open wound. This way it will spread more evenly and not hurt Harvest as much. It will be a long ache instead of a short blinding pain.

When she is done Harvest looks up to her gratefully. "Are you okay to keep going?" She asks him, sad to leave the beautiful pebble beach. But they cannot stay out in the open. Already, storm clouds are forming over top of them and static can be felt in the air. It may storm soon. The sun has disappeared.

Harvest nods, his lips turning to a thin line as he gets up, the blood draining from his face. With the support of Poppy, he walks with her further into the landmass they are now on. The pebbles rolling under their feet. Poppy stops of a moment, picking up a brilliant turquoise pebble she hands it to Harvest. "For my wounded warrior," she says. Harvest smiles down at her with a brilliant smile, his cheeks going slightly pink.

 **Ace Platinum, 18, District 1.**

"Let's just rest tonight, leave the other Tributes with a false sense of security." Ace explains to the group. The bodies have long since been collected from the harsh rocks and now the Tributes sit on various objects next to the cornucopia. Armed to the teeth with weapons and supplies.

Weiss and Nate growl in synch at the idea. But the others stay silent, even the un-injured they have had a lot taken out of them today. The simple matter is that if they found another Tribute that was uninjured they could not guarantee that it would not end without bloodshed and the Careers are not willing to risk losing one of their own so early in the Games.

The sun has started to set and heavy storm clouds have come out, the day seems to have moved impossibly fast. The Gamemakers must be doing it to try and mess with their heads. Or maybe they are all so out of it inside of the Games that time has become hard to judge. Whatever the reason it will be dark soon.

Night vision goggles were found with the bountiful supplies and have been left at the mouth of the cornucopia, almost enough for one pair each. "I'm happy to take the first watch," Esme says, it takes Ace off guard. She has said almost nothing since they all joined up.

"I'm happy with us taking it," Blake purs, biting his lower lip as he looks over to Esme. She looks back almost sheepishly.

"I was thinking I could take it alone, then you all could get a good rest," she explains, staring down at the floor. Nausea has not left her stomach and it is taking half of her energy not to break out dry heaving in front of the Careers. But she knows that she can't. She must not appear weak. Or they will kill her. Like Weiss almost did.

"Fat chance of that with Blake around," Weiss jokes.

Esme sighed in defeat when Blake shifts over to her, pressing their sides together he stares at the others with a huge grin on his face. "We will try not to keep you all awake, but something tells me that Esme is _loud_." Blake bursts into laughter.

After a moment of awkward silence by the rest of the Careers, Ace gets up and grabs a tarpaulin out of the cornucopia. He ties one side to a rather large spike on the crest of the cornucopia and wedges a large pole into a hole in the ground before tying the other side of the tarpaulin to that. Carolyn and Weiss quickly realize what he is doing and Esme tries to get up and help them but Blakes' fingers are firm around her hips. "You're staying right here with me," he purrs into her ear. She shivers despite herself.

Nate gets up to help wedge another pole into the ground before he hauls several stretches from the cornucopia and sets them up as Ace and the girls add walls to their makeshift shelter. Once they are done the stretchers sit next to each other the cornucopia blocks one side while plastic walls block the other three. "You two," Nate says, looking at where Esme and Blake are still sitting.

"On top of the cornucopia is the best vantage spot. Watch each other's backs and bring something soft to sit on." Nate explains Blake gives him a thumbs up back, rushing off he grabs a couple of blankets and two pairs of the night vision goggles. Before grabbing Esme's hand in his, his fingers digging into her skin slightly too far.

He pulls her up the cornucopia and Ace watches until they get out of his sight. "What's the bet they are going to keep us safe?" He asks the rest of the group.

"Probably not very high, but none of the other Tributes are going to attack us. They are expecting us to be out hunting _them_ ," Carolyn spits on the ground. Clear that she wants to be out, but the gash on her face is wearing her down too. It stings from the disinfectant used.

Ace looks around to the others who are settling down before walking over to Nate. It has almost gone pitch black outside already, only a couple of lanterns keep the Careers in the light. Ones that will stay on all night. "Hows Cassia doing?" Ace asks Nate.

Nate shrugs, running a hand through his freshly cropped hair. "Not much better, all we can do is watch her," he explains, looking over to the girl. She lies with her eyes closed in one of the stretchers, her body shivering despite the blanket that covers her. Ace excuses himself from the other boy for a moment, grabbing a second blanket he puts it on top of her as well.

"You need some sleep, do you want me to keep an eye on her?" Ace asks Nate. Snoring can already be heard from the stretcher that Carolyn is sleeping on and Weiss has a pillow wrapped around her head.

"Thank you," Nate replies before walking over to his own stretcher. Ace sits on the end of his, it is slightly elevated from the rest of them and he watches as Nates breaths slow. He stays eerily silent in sleep. While Weiss and Carolyn make little snores and noises Nate is deadly quiet. It's almost unnerving.

When nothing looks like it is going to happen and Cassia falls into a deep sleep too Ace lets himself feel tired. He aches from the injuries that have been inflicted on him and he closes his eyes, hoping to fall into a dreamless sleep.

Nothing is working in his favor today though as in his dream Prince and Tiffany come to him. He can be seen thrashing about in his stretcher as they attack him in his rough dreams, double teaming him just like Cole and the other boy they slash at his flesh.

But unlike the boys, Ace cannot bring himself to attack his friends.

* * *

 **Authors Note: So there it is, the first day of the arena is over now. Sorry for the less exciting chapter with little deaths, I hope that the arena building helped to make up for it. I enjoy just writing about how the Tributes are coping so we may have some less exciting chapters in the story.**

 **Thank you for reading. Let me know how do you think these current Tributes are going to do? Has anything surprised you?**

 **May the odds be ever in your favor,**

 **And,**

 **Thank you for your sacrifice.**

 ****NOTE****

Author Paradigm of Writing (who gave this SYOT the Tribute Jerry Kapper) has started their own SYOT Sheep Led to Slaughter and is looking for Tribute submissions. If you are interested they have reviewed to this story so you can find their profile in the review section or just search the name of the SYOT. I would highly recommend submitting as they are a very talented writer.

* * *

 **Sponsoring Information:**

Sponsoring is now open to your Tributes, or any Tributes that you would like to sponsor.

To Sponsor please stay active on the story and then PM me following this form;

Who would you like to Sponsor?

What would you like to Sponsor them?

Why do they deserve the item?

How could they use it to win?

What has been your favorite moment so far inside of the story?

You don't have to do huge answers to the questions, a sentence would do.

* * *

 **The fallen:**

 **Day One:**

 **24th: Flint Fraser, 13, District 12. Killed by Blake. Created by iridescenteverdeen** **. Flint became one of my favorite characters and I shed some tears thinking that he had to go. He was just too young and too scrawny. His persistence optimism followed him to the end and I'll miss him.**

 **23rd: Pricilla Winters, 15, District 12. Killed by Carolyn. Created by Mewkitcat** **. Pricilla fought to the end, her fear leading her to turn on those she probably could have trusted. Her family will miss her deeply, its almost fitting that she followed her District Partner out.**

 **22nd: Weft Loomis, 15, District 8. Killed by Ace. Created by** **destiny's sweet melody. Weft has a hard life, he had a solid plan but unfortunately was carried away by talk of alliances and those he trusted. His interview will be remembered as one of the best and his quirky sarcasm will be missed. He's with his mother and sister now.**

 **21st: Cole Rockweld, 15, District 9. Killed by Cassia. Created by The-Moth-God. Cole was a Tribute I think many expected to go far inside the Games. He almost did, but the true worth of alliances was shown at his expense. Cole did not go easily and he will leave his mark in the Games with the injuries he inflicted on Ace. He died fighting, Barrick can be proud of that.**

 **20th: Trafalgar Zaun, 15, District 10. Killed by Weiss. Created by 66samvr. Trav, they were different from any other Tribute I have seen before. They were so interesting to write and almost made it away. They can find solace in the friend they made in Eva, the true acceptance of their identity she had. But it is a bittersweet ending.**

 **19th: Eva Brath, 14, District 10. Killed by Esme. Created by Team Shadow. Eva was never designed to win these Games and I think most people saw that. I added a lot of backstory to this Tribute myself and she will always have a special spot. She can be with her sisters and father now, the hope that her youngest sister is not reaped will live on with the Capitol. That's all she ever wanted.**

 **18th: Violet Mercury, 14, District 8. Killed by Blake. Created by Booklovin'03. Violet, like Eva was never meant to win these Games. I think she knew that too. I think she would be okay with that, she wasn't sure if she wanted to win. Jasper will surely mourn her and her death will affect the District. It just wasn't meant to be.**


	37. A Scheming Grief

**Ziva Crimson, 27, The Capitol.**

"Where's Adair?" Bastion asks Ziva. They are back in the President's mansion. The sun is setting over the Capitol skies. Footage of the Games plays on the large flat screen on the center of the far wall. Right now, it shows the Tributes sleeping. It's flicking between several alliances.

"Trying not to be found," Ziva replies. Collapsing in the couch opposite Bastion. Bastion nods his head, his eyes flicking to the screen. Right now, it shows the two Careers on watch. Esme and Nate.

"I could do with some of that," he replies to her. Picking up a glass full of a rich dark liquid he takes a long gulp. The Games are stirring memories that Bastion has been trying to forget. He realizes dimly that it will be like this every year from now onward. The memories coming back. Nothing he can do to stop them.

Unless Ziva's plan works.

Two more figures appear from another room. They share soft smiles from an inside joke. The mood changes and the smiles dim as they sit on to the couches, opposite each other. Both sit close to the person next to them, requiring a connection in the dark atmosphere.

"What's been happening to the betting?" Anya asks Bastion, her voice quiet. They all know she is just trying to make conversation, but the words touch frostily to Bastions ears. He will never be able to escape the Games as long as he lives in the Capitol. The Head Gamemaker has all eyes on him.

"They are flopping all over the place. A lot are not happy at all about the two highest scoring Tributes being out of the Game for the moment," Bastion explains. He has finished the glass in front of him and itches for another. But the empty glass marks his third and a fourth will tip him into a fuzzy mind. It will be welcomed tonight, but not for this discussion.

Ziva nods her head, "what do the doctors think is wrong with the girl?' She asks. Bastion has a team of medical professionals to analyze injuries and get back to the mentors. He heard that the male mentor from Two was particularly distraught. Apparently, he and the Tribute have some history, but Bastion did not have time to dig into it.

"They think its a concussion, there does not appear to be any punctures in the skull as there is minimal blood, most likely caused by abrasions from the ground." Bastion explains. Teams of doctors have been coming to him all day, their terms have rubbed off on him. He has to clear the information before it is leaked to the mentors and then publically to the sponsors.

Ziva nods along with the rest of the group. Bastion feels Coraline press into his side further and he wraps his left arm around her timid frame. She's having almost as hard a time dealing with these Games as he is, though he does not have the guts to ask her why.

"Honestly I would be more concerned with the male from Seven or the girl from Nine, they might find infection heading their way." The Capitol doctors could not assure anything to Bastion, but the vodka was compromised with saliva when used on the boy's injury. And the forest is full of bacteria waiting to get into the girls wound.

"My money's on the pair in the caves going next," a new voice cuts in. Bastion jumps with the rough voice as Isaiah walks into the room. He pulls a staggering Adair behind him. Adair collapses onto the seat that Isaiah usually sits in. Isaiah looks annoyed for a moment before leaning against the back wall.

His eyes flicker to the television screen which shows the pair from Three huddled together in a dark passageway. "I don't even want to think about what kind of mutts you have hiding down there," Isaiah explains. Ziva shudders slightly from where she is sitting. The moment causes Anya to jump.

Bastion shifts uncomfortably in his seat, the male from Two died from mutts in his Games. That was the Tribute he had become the most attached to. Bastion can still remember as clearly as the back of his hand eating breakfast at dawnlight with the Tribute. The back of his scarred hand, not this new one polished by the Capitol.

"The Games need to slow in pace until we get our plan sorted here," Bastion explains. In truth, he is glad for this excuse, but now he balances on a thin edge. He must keep the Games interesting without as much bloodshed as the audiences are used to. His own Game was only eight days. The Capitol has become quite attached to its short attention span.

Adair slumps over, his hands covering his face. Bastion feels a pang of remorse. It was not his Tributes that killed Adair's. It may as well have been. All the others see is Careers. Despite Bastion not being a mentor, he has been hoping for the best for his Tributes.

He can't help but remember how tense he got when it was looking bad for Ace, he nearly lost it around all of the other Gamemakers. Freezing completely as they watched the bloodbath playout. His newly grown fingernails dug into the palms of his hands. He bit the end of his nails off after that. The Stylists can yell at them if they want to, but all the Capitol is remembering the fearsome Victor from District One.

A special cut of his Games played after the interviews last night, his story is fresh as ever in their minds. Bastion could not bring himself to watch it, busing himself with helping out at the Gamemaker offices and taking duties the interns really should have been doing.

"You should be happy to hear that sponsoring has already started. A parachute is being dropped tomorrow," Bastion informs Ziva. Her eyes raise, usually sponsoring is saved for later. But there is something different about these Games, something electric.

"We aren't here to talk about the Games," Adair mumbled from underneath his hands. "We are here to talk about the plan." A somber darkness quickly descends over the group, a darkness as thick as the Careers were feeling hours earlier.

Ziva looks over to Isaiah, he is the one who has been doing the grunt of the work. The attention is not on him and Anya like it is to the others. Anya shifts in her position pressed against the President. "I found something," Anya explains, she gets up slowly. Picking up a map that was curled on the coffee table in front of them.

"Well actually, Coraline came up with the idea," Anya announces. Bastion looks over to her in surprise. She smiles sheepishly at him as Bastion kisses her cheek softly. _You're brilliant_ he mimes with his lips. She blushes.

Anya pulls out the map, it's a colored diagram showing multiple routes and a large timetable is clipped to the top of it.

"We use the trains to escape."


	38. A Tributes Bond (GAMES - DAY 2)

**Esme Layton, 17, District 6.**

Esme watches gloomily as the sun starts to break the horizon. Her thoughts are cloudy, all mixed into a troubling mess they try and fight for dominance at the forefront of her mind. She closes her eyes, but that makes it no better. The images that creep from the back of her mind make it impossible to see black.

The sun has come out again, the storm that threatened no longer spilling. Yet the dark clouds hang around the horizon as if teasing the Tributes. The Gamemakers can turn the weather whenever they want, they don't want the Tributes to forget their utter control. Esme could not get a wink of sleep last night. When Blake went back to swap shifts she could not go back with him. The ghosts of his fingers can still be felt on her skin. She shivers despite the light.

Nate came out from the tents and the two have sat in silence since his shift began. The most exciting thing to happen was some odd clicking noises coming from the shore. But they got no closer. Esme prefers the silence, she doesn't feel like talking to anyone with tears on the edge of her vision. _You wanted this, didn't you? You wanted to be with the Careers. You knew what it would cost._ She repeats the phrases to herself over and over. She was stupid to think that she would be able to escape and join up with the others. No one trusts her here.

Blake wanted her too badly to escape from him and Nate is ever vigilant. She is unable to escape. A prisoner of her own creation. It's been less than a full day, but Esme's hands have developed a tremor that refuses to leave. It took her several minutes to refasten the buckle on her belt when Blake left. It was such a simple task before she entered the arena, she did not even think twice about doing it.

The dawn light reflects off of the water around them, causing it to glimmer and reflect into Esme's eyes. She stares at it with wonder, _what other beauty could this arena be hiding?_ Today they will hunt, it was decided so last night. This morning is a brief moment of peace with the others asleep.

"Look what I found," Nates voice is unexpected in the silence and Esme jumps out of her skin at the sound. Her hands jolt in reaction and she places them down too hard on the ground. She doesn't like the blankets anymore. Small trails of red run down her palms when she looks over to Nate. It's nothing severe.

He holds up two objects. He was fiddling with them all night but Esme was too distracted to look at what they were. In all honesty, she thought he might have just been tinkering with some rocks. Busy hands cure an idle mind. But now she looks at them they appear to be dark objects with short sticks protruding out from the top. She has never seen anything like them before. "What is it?" She asks, still slightly shaky.

He grins at her, a handsome smile. "Two-way radios," Nate explains. Esme just looks blankly at him. She has never heard that term before, but surely they must be important if Nate is smiling about them. She has not seen him smile since the bloodbath.

"We can use them to talk to each other, work them on the same frequency, we will have to test out their range," Nate tells her calmly, his eyes starting to light up. Esme finally understands what they are, they use a different term in her District.

"We can communicate all over the arena," Esme whispers as Nate nods along. She knows that she should be excited but her stomach sinks lower than ever. With those, the Careers will be almost untouchable. Judging by the smile on Nate's face, he knows that better than anyone.

 **Jerry Kapper, 15, District 6.**

Jerry watches at the Tributes below him start to wake with the morning light. He climbed up the tree with the most cover last night, keeping close to the trunk and quiet he kept on the opposite side. His plan has been fairly simple since the Games started, keep close to another alliance and go unnoticed.

He got barely a wink of sleep last night, he could not get the faces of his alliance that was projected into the sky out of his mind. _The fallen_ he thinks to himself, what a way to glorify their deaths. Every single member. He wants to laugh, they thought that they were large enough to take on the Careers. Isn't that a joke.

A green lotion that he found inside of the backpack has been rubbed all over his skin, coating his pale flesh. It will make him harder to spot for anyone looking around. He's not sure what his plan is going forward, if he should try and ally with this alliance, or if he should try to pick them off one by one. They surely are weak now, their highest scoring girl still unconscious.

The boy, Oliver. He's been awake all night. Keeping watch on the girls his eyes flick protectively to the both of them. It's astonishing how quickly a bond has formed between the three of them, especially with the cropped hair girls frosty attitude. _I don't think she likes that the other girl is injured,_ Jerry thinks to himself.

But he saw what she did to Trav.

He was running, but he had tripped in the water, looking over his shoulder he had been alarmed by her scream. He saw how she smiled at Trav as she ran, how she left them there confused. How a Career finished them off soon after. Jerry seeths with the thought. This Tribute has no sense of honor. No rules. Jerry is worried about what it will mean for the alliance that she is now in.

Its what's stopping Jerry from trying to ally with them too. But he saw all the supplies that they have. If they leave them unarmed for a moment, maybe Oliver falls asleep, he could climb down and grab some. Just enough to stay alive. He will be alright for the moment. He found water and food inside of his backpack. But only enough for a couple of days. By tomorrow he will run out.

A gasping from blow causes Jerry's heart to leap. Looking down he sees that the unconscious girl has woken up. Oliver mumbles something to her that Jerry can't hear and shares a canteen with her. She drinks gratefully.

Jerry lies back on the trunk that he is sitting on, taking deep breaths he closes his eyes and listens to the sounds around him. It's almost eerily quiet, there are no birds in this forest. Nothing chirping or singing. It does not bode well in Jerry's mind.

 **Harvest Kohl, 15, District 11.**

Harvest's arm feels surprisingly better when he wakes, looking at the sun. It's directly overhead and blinds Harvest in his surprise. They were not supposed to sleep for nearly this long. He looks over to where Poppy sleeps beside him, she has tucked her body next to his and Harvest feels his heart flutter in his chest.

Despite the danger of the moment, he can't bring himself to wake her. Instead, he watches as she sleeps. She looks so much younger in her sleep, no longer with the weight of the world and the Games over her shoulders. Her eyes don't show the fear that she has taken her over since the Games began. She could be back at home. _I wish I had the guts to tell her how I feel._ Harvest thinks to himself, ashamed that even in this situation he cannot muster the courage.

Instead, he just continues to watch her, fantasizing about what could be. Her chest rises and falls gently and a piece of brown hair drapes down to her lip. It is pushed outwards then sucked back in again as she breathes. Almost without thinking Harvest reaches his hands down and tucks the piece behind her ear. She turns in her sleep a moment but Harvest can't bear to take his hand away.

Only when she opens her eyes does he force himself to. "Hey," Poppy says sleepily, looking up to Harvest with tired eyes, "what's the time?" Harvest spends a long moment just looking at her face, it's like she does not remember they are in the arena. It's just the two of them for a moment.

"Judgi-" Harvest voice cracks and Poppy bursts out into giggles. Harvest's face goes pink as she continues to giggle. But the sound is so comforting in a place like this he does not mind that the joke is at his expense. He clears his throat. "Judging by the sky I would say midday," he replies.

Poppy bolts up, not noticing her proximity to Harvest her eyes go wide. He feels a pang of sadness, this is the Poppy of the arena, not the one from back home. "Midday?" She asks Harvest, her voice squeaking from the shock of it all. "Harvest we have slept in far too long! Someone could have found us!" She rapidly gets up, trying to shake the sleepiness from her body she looks around as if expecting a threat to appear at any moment. Nothing does and eventually, she starts to relax.

Harvest looks sheepishly up at her, she's right. They could have been attacked from any number of places. They did not stumble too far from the ocean. Just far enough for the ground to turn grey. Then they collapsed in the center of it, too tired to keep going. He looks around now, in front of him he can just make out the colorful shore.

Behind him, the grey continues. "What do we have in our pack?" Harvest asks Poppy, standing up next to her. She counted inventory last night. "A hatchet, some matches, a lump of something that smells foul." She holds up a thick glass container, inside of it is a clear substance that is slightly thick as she moves it around. Harvest shrugs his shoulders, not sure what it is containing.

"And this thing, I can't figure out what it is," she explains. She holds up another item, it looks like a very thin piece of rope, but it is waxy to the touch. On one end it has a circular base made out of some kind of thin metal, on the other, it is the waxy end. It's very long. Harvest thinks it looks oddly familiar, but he has no idea what it could be.

"No food or water then," he complains. Already his throat is starting to dry and his stomach growls in a complaint. After a week grazing on Capitol food whenever he could want he has become quite accustomed to a full stomach. Now pains are shooting from his already. "Do you think the water we crossed was drinkable?" He asks Poppy, he can barely remember the journey. Only pain.

Poppy shakes her head, "it was salt. The Trainers told us never to drink salt water. It will only dehydrate more," she explains. Harvest looks up at her worriedly, sweat has started rolling off of his body in the head again. He takes his jacket off, tying it around his waist he takes a deep breath.

"Then let's continue away from the cornucopia," he tells Poppy. "We might find a stream or something further on." Poppy nods her head and immediately starts walking in the direction of grey. Harvest feels in his pocket and stares for a moment at the brilliant rock that Poppy gave him yesterday. _For my wounded warrior_ she had told him. Oh, how he wishes that he could be more.

 **Carolyn Aquana, 17, District 4.**

Carolyn taps her foot impatiently. Scowling at the rest of the Careers as they take their time getting ready for the hunt that is about to commence. On her back, she wears a light backpack, stocked with food water and a couple of knives.

Another knife is tucked into her belt and she carries a trident in her right hand. In her left is one of the two-way radios. The Gamemakers gave them plenty of supplies, enough to last a month of Games. Carolyn rolls her eyes, she won't let this thing go over two weeks.

Walking over to the cornucopia she carves two lines down its rocky side. Two lines for two days. She has made herself a goal now, one that she intends to keep. Someone yells out but she cannot hear, it comes from the left. She looks over to see Nate gathering all of the Careers in a large group.

Carolyn walks back over. _Trust them to get together the one moment I'm doing something. I've been waiting for them all morning._ The annoyed thoughts play a game of ping-pong inside her head. Taking a deep breath to calm herself she walks over to where Nate stands. He's standing on a rock, making himself higher than the others. Carolyn rolls her eyes, she can't wait until she can get away from the pretentiousness of the pack.

"We will split into three groups," Nate explains to them. His voice is commanding, filling all of the space around them it booms off into the surrounding area. Carolyn moves from foot to foot impatiently, practically growling she is ready to hunt the other Tributes.

"One group will stay here and guard the camp, the other two will go off in whatever direction they choose," Nate explains. _He's trying to do it as slowly as possible just to annoy me_. The thought is planted into Carolyn's head.

"Carolyn, who do you want to go with you?" Nate asks her directly. Carolyn smiles smugly, the two-way radio has marked her out as one of the leaders. Nate and Ace both hold their own ones.

"Me and Weiss will show you up, first one with a kill gets no watch duty tonight." Carolyn's challenge is issued to the rest of the group. Nate nods curtly, his eyes gleaming but his mouth staying a firm line. He won't let himself be beaten. But neither will Carolyn.

"That leaves me Blake and Esme to go in another group," Nate explains. The two walk over to him briefly but then Esme whispers something into Nates ear. Nate looks annoyed for a moment before talking to Ace quietly, the two have a brief conversation. "Looks like its boys versus girls," Nate boats. "Esme's staying here with Ace."

Blake growls from where he stands but Nate just shakes his head. Nate walks up to where Carolyn is standing, facing her off. "Where do you want to go?" He asks her. She smiles a broad smile at him.

 **Talia Lancaster, 15, District 3.**

Its impossibly dark and cold inside of the caves, Talia and Callum have been stumbling around since they first entered the mouth over a day ago. But neither knows that it has been that long, they have lost all sense of time.

Dead ends and forking paths have made a bizarre show and Callum has grazed his side badly from scraping against the side of a sharp stalagmite. Both of them are panting, hideously thirsty they try to lap up the moisture in the air. It's a thick wetness, one that feels like it is suffocating them every step of the way.

When a bat flew over them Talia screamed. The noise ricocheted off one wall to another until it felt like the entire passageway was screaming a grotesque scream. It caused the two Tributes to stop dead in their tracks. A sponsor gift could not get to them in the caves, nothing could get to them in the caves.

The backpack was mostly useless, it had some food in it but not much else. The best thing it has provided them with is two thick coats, the pair wear them on top of their ones provided by the Gamemakers. Despite this, the two Tributes still shiver. The caves are impossibly cold. Somehow, the frigid breeze has followed them downward.

"We need to get out," Talia tells Callum. All of her body is telling her to escape, she cannot stand being here. _I never should have suggested coming into the caves in the first place. It was a stupid mistake. One we will surely pay for. Callum does not deserve this._ The thoughts corrode her mind like acid.

Calum stops moving, staring into Talia's eyes he is her strength. "We will, I promise," he tells her. Taking her hand he leads her at a faster pace. They use their left hands to feel the wall of the caves while their rights stay connected. They stay that way for a while. Talia's rapid breaths giving away the fear that she is feeling inside.

"Who do you think has died?" She asks him softly, a deep shiver wracking through to her bones. Talking is better than not. This was the only thing that she could think to say. The curiosity has been gnawing into her, like the cold.

Callum shakes his head beside her before remembering that she cannot see him. It's almost comical, all of Panem can see him but not his alliance member. "I don't know," he replies. "The Careers are probably all still alive, but I don't think they will be doing too hot." He hopes that they aren't with every fiber of his body.

"I hope that the other pair is okay. Harvest and Poppy. They both seemed like decent people," Talia replies. She can see herself and Callum in them. If the worst happens then she wants one of them to make it home. Callum stays silent.

It surprises them both when their bodies continue moving but their hands hit an object. It grazes their knuckles. Taking a couple of steps back they look at each other for a long moment. Somehow knowing where each other face is without the light.

On the right passage, the wind is even stronger, cutting deeply into Callum's skin. The left passive has less of a breeze, it smells like the ocean but it slopes down further while the right passage goes upward.

"Which way to do we go?" Talia asks Callum, trusting him more than herself.

He takes a deep breath, trying to figure it out. He closes his eyes, expanding his mind he tries to let it figure it out for him. But ultimately, it is his gut that decides.

"This one," he tells Talia, leading her onward.

 **Nirvana Ivanov, 18, District 7.**

The pain is more bearable for Nirvana today. His wound has been stitched and his leg has regained some of its mobility. Even if they have run out of Vodka. Willow told him that it will take a few days for the wound to heal enough to move positions. _What does she know anyway? I know for a fact she didn't spend any time at the medical station_. But even with those thoughts, he has to admit that he is relying on the girl.

"Nirvana! Look!" Willow yells excitedly. Nirvana looks up, staring up at the sun he does not spot what has got Willow so excited for a few moments. Then he does. A silver parachute is slowly climbing its way down from the sky toward the two Tributes. Nirvana feels a smile spread across his face.

When the parachute descends he grabs for it greedily and his eyes light up when he notices two full canteens. Half hoping for more Vodka he opens one up and gulps down the best water that he has ever tasted. Willow grabs for the second one and together they drink greedily. They have not been able to move from their position on the flat rocks yet. But the water and healing in Nirvana's system promise that it might change for the better.

That is until they hear something on the wind. Willow shoots her head up when she first hears it. Nirvana is a little later to catch on. But the sound carries. There are two deep voices being carried on the wind. Two voices who are loud enough not to mind being heard. Two voices who are getting closer and closer.

"Are you sure they came this way?" One of the voices says, a low growl.

"Positive, it was where Carolyn came from when she got sliced," the other voice replies.

"And you're sure it's _him_?"

"Of course, I never forget a face."

Nirvana feels a sinking feeling spreading from his chest down to his toes. He has not told Willow why he participated in the bloodbath. She has assumed that he just went in to try and get a weapon. Not his ulterior motives. Not the glory that he was so close to claiming.

The cave opening is still nowhere in sight and Willow looks around in alarm. Nirvana looks back at her, not quite worried. But the most uneasy he has been. His fate is so out of his hands, he can't stand the feeling. He won't be able to climb up the mountain. They need to find somewhere for him to hide as fast as possible. Near where the cave opening should be some boulders have collected, just enough to hide a large figure behind. There is no other option.

"Come, quick!" Willow tells Nirvana, helping him up she half drags him over to the boulders. His body is just about hidden by them and she moves a couple rocks partially over his back. He is almost undisguisable to the naked eyes. The Careers should not notice him. Nirvana grins back at her, giving her a thumbs up from beneath the rubble he wonders what she is going to do.

He watches as Willow starts to climb up the jagged mountain behind them. It is more of a cliff from up close and he is surprised to see with what relative ease she is managing to scale it. She is reasonably high up when the Careers round the corner. Nate and Blake. Nirvana growls. It was Nate who injured him at the bloodbath. He clenches the same knife that was once embedded into his leg. _I could jump out and take him now_ Nirvana thinks to himself. But that would mean a suicide mission, and above all, Nirvana wants to protect his own skin. He is safe here.

He shuffles back slightly as the boys spot Willow as she climbs. They yell taunts at her as she only climbs higher and higher.

Then something terrible happens.

Nirvana puts his foot back and it falls into a hole he did not realize was there. He has to bite his lip from screaming out in pain as his crude stitches scrape against gravel.

He slowly tries to move his foot out, but it is stuck in the hole. It's almost a one-way valve, his boot has fallen into it easily enough, but now the wider top of the boot- where the laces are tied into- is stopping the boot from coming back out. He curses underneath his breath as he watches what happens with Willow. No matter what, he is stuck here until the Career's leave.

Willow has climbed even further up the cliff. Nirvana can't help but smile as she taunts the boys. Waving at them she blows a kiss. There is no jealousy in Nirvana, he is no longer interested now he has gotten what he wanted. But the rebellious nature to the action has riled him up.

Apparently, the Careers did not like it as much. Blake throws his only trident at Willow. Nirvana holds his breath as it sails toward her. But Willow climbs out of the way and the trident embeds itself a couple of meters to the left of Willow. "No wonder you got that zero, you can't aim for shit!" She yells down at the Blake and Nirvana snorts, he's surprised to see a humorous smile on Nates face as well.

Nirvana can see Blake seething underneath the cliff and he talks to Nate briefly. Nate shakes his head ruefully as Blake strips off the backpack that he was wearing. He has a moment of debate before taking his jacket off too. _I wouldn't be surprised if he took his shirt off again_ Nirvana thinks to himself. But apparently, the Tribute has too many brains to scrape his chest bloody so he grabs onto the jagged rocks. Trying to trace a path like Willows.

Willow lets him get a little bit closer to her before she starts climbing again, but she stops abruptly. Nirvana furrows his brows, she is still low enough for a Career to catch up. Still low enough to clearly see the ground beneath her. She seems to take a deep breath, resolve in her eyes. _Maybe I wrote her off too soon,_ Nirvana thinks as he realizes what she is planning.

She told him that if she got the option to kill any Tribute it would be Blake. Time seems to go in slow motion as Blake continues to climb, taunting Willow with words that are lost to the wind. When he gets into grasping distance Blake stops for a moment to get a knife out of his belt, his grin already announcing victory.

That's when Willow moves. She sticks her boot out lightning fast, catching the boy straight in the chest his eyes go wide as dinner plates. For a moment it looks like they might both topple off of the mountainside. Blake grasping for any reach he could find he cuts his palms bloody in the process.

But the boy falls.

The sight is better than anything Nirvana could ever have imagined.

 **Caroline Hollyhock, 17, District 5.**

The group of three sits together. Caroline leans against a tree as Kalista and Ollie lie down on the grass. Kalista has picked grass out of the ground and is showering it down on Ollie. He laughs a deep booming sound there is something warm about it. It's oddly fitting for this moment.

"Caroline, come sit with us," Kalista calls up. She has a broad smile on her face, her defenses down completely. They have traveled for over a day for the sun now starts to dip against the horizon. _Could we really have a peaceful day?_ Caroline asks herself, she doubts it. Yet the Gamemakers seem to be crafting one again. No cannons have boomed since the bloodbath.

Caroline looks back to Kalista who has now started threading dandelions into Ollie's hair. Caroline can't help but smile at the pair of them. The connection between them was almost instantaneous, it's like two people who were supposed to know each other.

She sits on the grass across from them, gaining a grin from Ollie. Sunlight has sneaked its way past the darkening clouds and in the evening twilight, the forest looks as beautiful as Caroline has ever seen. "You two are going to be best friends in no time," Caroline jokes.

Ollie grins again, holding a wrist he shows off a dandelion chain. "Check it, friendship bracelets already," Kalista punches him gently in the shoulder.

"Sorry Ollie, that position is quite taken by my best friend Bonnie," Kalista explains. Her face takes on a distant expression for a moment. It's a shift in mood picked up by all of the Tributes, they all feel the same way about their loved ones.

"Can you tell us about her?" Ollie asks, a goofy smile lighting up his sleep-deprived face. Deep purple bags hang under his eyes, he has not slept at all since the Games began. He's volunteered to be on tonight's watch as well. Assuring the girls that he is okay. It's not like they can really argue in their current states.

Kalista chews on the edge of her lip as her mind wanders back to her District. "She's really tough, you wouldn't want to mess with her," Kalista jokes, a tear dripping down her cheek. "But beneath that she's a real softie, she's always helping me out when I need it and I help her out as well. She saved my life once, now it's my turn to do the same." Kalista jokes that last part but it's jarring to hear for the others. They all know that there can only be one Victor.

"How'd she save your life?" Caroline asks, genuine curiosity in her voice.

Kalista smiles sadly. "We were always getting into trouble in our District. This one time we decide to climb the justice building. Long story short I slipped on a ledge, without her I would have been nothing but _splat,"_ She claps her hands together for emphasis. "She's the reason you both get to enjoy my splendid company," she adds. Ollie bursts out into laughter.

"She sounds a lot like my Dwayne," he explains. "When I was injured really bad by Peacekeepers he helped me out. Saved my life. Took on my job when I couldn't work, even when it meant so much more work for him," Ollie's voice sounds far away. Almost distant as he thinks back to the boy he left behind in his District.

Kalista grabs one of Ollie's hands in hers. "Sounds like we both are pretty lucky," he tells her before looking over to Caroline. "You got someone like that too?" Kalista asks her, her voice soft. Caroline blinks slowly, trying to collect her thoughts. These two Tributes have both faced so many more hardships than she ever has.

"I used to, I'm not too sure how she would feel about me these days," Caroline explains. Her mind wandering back to another life.

"You must have cared about her a lot to volunteer for her," Ollie says softly.

"I do," Caroline admits. "More than I ever realized, but some things are bigger than yourself." She moves her hands down, feeling her belly. It has started to protrude more from her stomach as she feels the occasional kick.

The alliance continues to talk in quiet whispers well into the night. It is only when Ollie forces them to go to bed that they do, Kalista snuggled up to his side.

 **Ace Platinum, 18, District 1.**

"Damn it!" Ace yells, pacing back and forth. He has been around the camp tidying up. Securing the shelter with Esme and checking on Cassia as she sleeps. The girl seems to be fighting some internal battle, burning up one moment then freezing cold the next. Ace mashed up some pills that he found in a first aid kit and fed them to her with some water but he's not sure how much good that has done.

"What's up?" Esme asks, she has been helping Ace out and was taking a moment to bathe in the salty water. Her hair is still dripping wet but she looks more relaxed than Ace has seen her in the Games. He wonders briefly if it has something to do with Blake not being around.

"Weiss and Carolyn have found nothing and Nate and Blake are stalking some girl who climbed up a cliff. Both are going to be out overnight," he runs a hand through his blonde hair in stress.

"Looks like we won't be sleeping tonight," Esme jokes as Ace's two-way radio blares again. He listens to it intently, a frown creasing his brow. When the other end is finished talking Ace sighs deeply asking if they need backup. There is a curt reply from the other side before they hang up. The radio makes its two high pitched beeps which means the other radio has dropped the call. Ace sighs again.

"Looks like Blake took a tumble but Nate managed to catch him before there was too much damage done. Now both the boys are bruised up but want revenge." Ace rolls his eyes, stretching out he lights a stack of driftwood that he collected earlier. Soon, it lights up the area around them. It seems to get dark awfully quickly in the arena.

"You better settle in, it's going to be a long night." He explains to Esme. He collapses on a large driftwood log that he dragged up, patting a spot next to him. She rolls her eyes, grabbing a spare blanket nearby she sets it on the ground and uses the log as a backrest.

Esme takes a deep breath, there is something that's been on her mind for a while. "Why would you volunteer for this?" She asks Ace. She's afraid that he will get mad about the question, but instead, the boy laughs softly.

"Honestly," Ace replies, "I wish I hadn't." The answer surprises Esme and her expression causes Ace to laugh again. He pokes the fire with a stick he finds nearby. "Right now I could be back home with my girlfriend and best friend. We had a good life. I glorified the idea of being rich, thinking that's what she deserved. But it's not. What she deserves is a boyfriend that's alive." Ace goes quiet for a moment.

"Can I tell you a secret?" He asks Esme. The girl blinks in surprise, nodding quickly. Ace takes a deep breath. "Oi, Tiff, if you're watching right now can you block your ears for a second? Prince make her please." He smiles at the image he has of the two of them inside of his mind.

"I bought a ring for her, as soon as I get home I'm proposing." Ace confesses to Esme, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment. Esme looks at him in surprise.

"That's so cute!" She gushes at him, imagining the kind of love they must share. He's only a year older than her but she could not imagine feeling quite that way for someone. She wishes she could.

"Okay Prince, she can listen again," Ace gives a thumbs up to the fire and Esme laughs at his goofy expression. The two of the talk quietly a little longer as the world gets darker and darker.

That is, until another voice joins in the conversation.

* * *

 **Authors note: The second day of the Games, I know there's still been no deaths. I can tell you that this is going to change soon, plans are in place it's just going to take us some time to get there. In saying that, I broke down writing a section for day three of the Games. So things are going to get sad very soon, maybe we can all just appreciate some peace. I'm sure the Tributes do.**

 **Thank you like always for reading. Did anything that happened this chapter surprise you? What are your predictions for these Tributes futures?**

 **May the odds be ever in your favor,**

 **And,**

 **Thank you for your sacrifice.**

* * *

 **Sponsoring Information:**

Sponsoring is now open to your Tributes, or any Tributes that you would like to sponsor.

To Sponsor please stay active on the story and then PM me following this form;

Who would you like to Sponsor?

What would you like to Sponsor them?

Why do they deserve the item?

How could they use it to win?

What has been your favorite moment so far inside of the story?

You don't have to do huge answers to the questions, a sentence would do.

* * *

 **The fallen:**

 **Day One:**

 **24th: Flint Fraser, 13, District 12. Killed by Blake. Created by iridescenteverdeen** **. Flint became one of my favorite characters and I shed some tears thinking that he had to go. He was just too young and too scrawny. His persistence optimism followed him to the end and I'll miss him.**

 **23rd: Pricilla Winters, 15, District 12. Killed by Carolyn. Created by Mewkitcat** **. Pricilla fought to the end, her fear leading her to turn on those she probably could have trusted. Her family will miss her deeply, its almost fitting that she followed her District Partner out.**

 **22nd: Weft Loomis, 15, District 8. Killed by Ace. Created by** **destiny's sweet melody. Weft has a hard life, he had a solid plan but unfortunately was carried away by talk of alliances and those he trusted. His interview will be remembered as one of the best and his quirky sarcasm will be missed. He's with his mother and sister now.**

 **21st: Cole Rockweld, 15, District 9. Killed by Cassia. Created by The-Moth-God. Cole was a Tribute I think many expected to go far inside the Games. He almost did, but the true worth of alliances was shown at his expense. Cole did not go easily and he will leave his mark in the Games with the injuries he inflicted on Ace. He died fighting, Barrick can be proud of that.**

 **20th: Trafalgar Zaun, 15, District 10. Killed by Weiss. Created by 66samvr. Trav, they were different from any other Tribute I have seen before. They were so interesting to write and almost made it away. They can find solace in the friend they made in Eva, the true acceptance of their identity she had. But it is a bittersweet ending.**

 **19th: Eva Brath, 14, District 10. Killed by Esme. Created by Team Shadow. Eva was never designed to win these Games and I think most people saw that. I added a lot of backstory to this Tribute myself and she will always have a special spot. She can be with her sisters and father now, the hope that her youngest sister is not reaped will live on with the Capitol. That's all she ever wanted.**

 **18th: Violet Mercury, 14, District 8. Killed by Blake. Created by Booklovin'03. Violet, like Eva was never meant to win these Games. I think she knew that too. I think she would be okay with that, she wasn't sure if she wanted to win. Jasper will surely mourn her and her death will affect the District. It just wasn't meant to be.**


	39. Lingering Gifts

**Bastion Steele, 19, District 1.**

"Bastion, you better take a look at this!" The call comes in through the intercom installed in his office. The sharp sound jars him, he was not expecting anything. The second day of The Games has been going off without a hitch. Most of the team has already left for the night, Bastion got caught up watching Ace so has stayed late. He does not have the specific feed in his new mansion.

He sighs as he recognizes the sound of Pax's voice. The man has forgiven him for giving the cold shoulder the day of the private sessions and has now taken to following Bastion around like a lost puppy. It's almost comical as the man is double the age of Bastion. He's obviously going for the position of Head Gamemaker for the next year. It goes unsaid that Bastion will not hold the position. Even if the Capitol will not know the extent of his disappearance until it is too late.

He wonders briefly how whoever takes over will cover up the disappearance of the star-studded cast. But then he shakes the thought out of his mind. They are not nearly there yet. The plan slightly more hashed is more of a shallow line in the sand, one that could be wiped over by the faintest breeze or changing tide.

Putting on a cool facade he walks out of the sterile office. His blinds have been closed almost since the Games began. He reaches Pax almost instantaneously. He was not expecting the man to be waiting outside his office. Bastion almost barrels into him. Pax jumping out of the way with an undignified yelp. Bastion glares at him, not having time for the antics of the older man.

"What is it?" Bastion asks him, putting on a glare. He did not want to be disrupted.

Pax looks almost sheepish, staring at his feet. "We found something," he mumbles. It takes Bastion a moment to process his words and his eyebrows raise with a mind of their own. Bastion feels his heart accelerate in his chest. _Something_ cannot be good. _Something_ means that Pax is afraid to tell him the full truth.

"What?" Bastion growls. Putting on his Tribute voice. He is no longer the Head Gamemaker, groomed and trained by the Capitol. He is the wild boy from District One that killed seven. He is someone to be feared. By the way that Pax attempts to sink into the wall the man knows it too. A blossom of power starts to bloom in Bastions chest. It tastes like blood at the back of his mouth.

"Better...Better if I show you," Pax stutters out. His legs are shaky as he leads Bastion down to where the rest of the Gamemakers are staring at a large holographic projection of the arena. They are all rushing around with busy faces when Bastion passes them. They are doing their job well or pretending to. He's working with about a quarter of the staff he should, the rest have gone home. These ones are on night shift and make sure that the Games run smoothly as the Capitol and Tributes sleep.

Pax stops next to the projection, pressing some buttons on a touch screen he brings up a specific portion of the map. Its nowhere the Tributes have ventured yet. Some are getting close to it. Bringing up the holograph so it appears three-dimensional. Bastion struggles to figure out what he is being shown.

The holograph, which is presumed they all see in 3D is two dimensional in front of him. He struggles to make out what he could be shown, squeezing his hands into a tight fist he can only see the front of the object. "Can you bring it up in multiple images" Bastion makes his voice flat and crisp. The one he uses to command.

Pax does not comment. Pressing more buttons Bastion is met with images that he can comprehend. They make his heart sink to the floor. It looks like inside of a mound there is something living, something inhuman. "What is that doing there?" Bastion asks his voice ice cold.

Pax shifts uneasily from foot to foot. Bastion can see the creature move around on the large monitor. "We don't know," Pax admits. Basion glares harder at him, taking a step forward Bastion towers a head taller over the other man.

"What the hell does that mean?" Bastions voice is no longer a growl. It's as if something else has taken over him completely. Something dark and dangerous. Something he has tried to hide from everyone since his Games ended. Something that haunts him.

Pax stoops over with the weight of Bastions voice as if being physically harmed. "We think Aetius put it there, it wasn't picked up since it's so far away from the cornucopia. Right on the edge of the arena." Pax ramblings tell Bastion what he can already see, and guess for himself.

"We can't get rid of it, the mutt is unresponsive to all commands and we can't open that section of the arena without creating a security breach. The two Tributes are too close to section off the area planned for later…" Pax's voice has become a drone in Bastions head. Like a headache, it cannot be stopped. It will only get worse before it gets better.

Bastion closes his eyes tightly. "There's more," Pax says quietly. Bastions eyes flicker wide open. _What could be worse than this?_ "Looking at notes left by Aetius this was supposed to be the last mutt. Designed for the final few. But once he was replaced he penciled it in for a lot sooner."

Bastion closes his eyes. "How much time do we have?" He asks Pax, his stomach sinking lower.

Pax looks up at him. "It's due to be released when dawn breaks."

Bastion looks down at his watch, it has just passed midnight.


	40. Shattered (GAMES - DAY 3)

**Cassia Slander, 16, District 2.**

Cassia watches as the sky starts to lighten inside of the arena. The specifics are blurry in her mind. She can barely remember the day before the Games. Vague recollections of yells and fighting. Of hitting the ground hard. Of Nate's face. Then black.

Esme went to sleep once it was clear Cassia was alert enough to stay on watch and her snores can be heard from inside of the tarpaulins. Cassia had to beg Ace not to radio to the rest of the pack straight away. She didn't want the other distracted by her waking. A moment of peace where she is not a target. Part of her wants it to be a surprise, to see Nates reaction in the flesh.

There's something foreboding about today. The way the clouds above the Tributes threaten to suffocate them. The way that dawn should have broken by now. The way there is currently two pairs of Careers out hunting, an invisible thread connecting them. Ready to snap in an instant. _Maybe I'm being pessimistic._

"Thank you for saving my life," Aces voice startles Cassia.

"What?" She replies, looking over at him.

He looks sheepishly at her, his cheeks going pink. "I know you don't remember, at the bloodbath you killed a boy that was about to kill me." Ace explains, staring at the fire in front of them. It is merely embers burning light, waiting for the clouds to break above them.

Cassia stares at it too. _I killed someone_. She's been training to do it her whole life. Something made her wonder if she could. _It must have happened fast for it to of saved Aces life_. She can't remember it at all. Is that better or worse? _I don't know his name. I may never know it._

"Nate is the only one that hasn't got a kill yet, he's pretty pissed off." Ace explains, nudging Cassia in the side. Cassia laughs, picturing a scowling Nate.

"Who's got the most?" She asks.

"Blake." Ace rolls his eyes at the name. "I want the girls to take out a couple, just to wipe the smug look Blake has off." Ace explains, looking guiltily over his shoulder. Almost like he is expecting the boy to appear out of thin air. The two of them sit in silence for a few moments, enjoying the company there was no guarantee they would experience.

Then Ace does something unexpected. Reaching out he wraps his arm around Cassias shoulder. Hugging her he gently presses her head against his chest. She is so surprised she does not try to stop him.

She can hear the beating of his heart, it's steadier than hers is. He leans in, fiddling with her hair he brings his lips close to her ear. Cassia is surprised by this gesture, it's almost intimate. That is until Ace starts whispering. "Some of the alliance is not going to be happy about you waking up." His lips barely move as he says the words. Soft as a butterfly's wings. Soft enough for the Capitol to miss.

Cassia feels her heart accelerate in her chest. "They think you're the biggest threat," his words only add to the trapped feeling Cassia has had since the training scores were revealed. Cassia can't ask the question burning inside of her. _Who? Who are they?_ She can't look up and give the game away.

"Be careful, stick to watch shifts with me or Nate. Don't tru-." His voice is cut off by a sound behind them.

Esme has appeared out of the shelter now the dawn has started to break and looks at the two of them confused. Ace and Cassia jump away from each other as if electrocuted. Both of their cheeks pink at what it must have looked like.

The three of them stare at each other in an awkward silence.

"So, are you two a thing now?" Esme jokes, trying to lighten the mood.

"You wish," Ace fires back.

 **Poppy Northrop, 15, District 11.**

The ground erupting into precarious shakes wakes Poppy. Just before the dawn surfaces. She shakes Harvest's body hard, drool pools at the corner of his mouth. In any other moment, she would have teased him for it. Not now. Not when the ground seems to be ripping in two beneath them.

"What's going on?" Harvest asks groggily, wiping the drool from the corner of his mouth he looks up at Poppy with messy hair.

They followed the grey for as long as they could yesterday. Collapsing from exhaustion yet again the only moisture they have managed to ingest has come from trickles here and there in dry river beds. Enough to keep them alive but no more. There are dry patches on both of the Tributes tongues.

"I don't know," Poppy confesses. Grabbing his arm she forgets his injury as she yanks him to his feet. Harvest yelps in pain as her nails dig into the bandages, but it's almost a blessing. The pain wipes the sleep from his voice and eyes. Instead, they are large and staring all around. He has finally noticed the shaking.

It seems to come from a point in front of them. A mound of grey appears to convulse in the direction that they were heading. It causes Poppy's heart to drop to her feet as she opens her mouth in a silent scream. This is unnatural. This is like nothing that she could ever have imagined.

"Run!" Harvest screams at her, his voice breaking her out of her silent terror the two Tributes start to scurry off back in the direction they came. Toward the bright pebble beach and the cornucopia. In her blind panic Poppy does not realize that she has picked up the bag. Only that it is slapping against her hip painfully. Harvest holds the hatchet gripped in his fist.

An inhuman noise comes from behind them. Something that causes Poppy's hairs to stand on end. "Don't look back!" Harvest yells at her, gripping his hand in hers it is enough to get her running that much faster. She starts to pull Harvest along, the lack of moisture and fatigue creeping into his bones. She squeezes his hand tighter.

Then she glances over his shoulder.

What she sees makes a real scream bubble from her lips.

It's a mutt. Taller than any creature Poppy has ever seen it almost glides across the ground on its legs. It's legs. Six legs move together in a grotesque fashion, over a scaly slimy body it reeks of rotten flesh and makes Poppy gag. Two pincers protrude from its front, larger than Poppy can describe they seem to beg for flesh to rip into. Its head is tiny, two black eyes protrude slightly upward and a hunched back completes its looks. Every inch of Poppys being is telling her to get as far away from the creature as possible. For Harvest too as well.

"Run!" She yells again as the mutt scurries on. It is gaining on them, she can tell. They can't let it get to them.

They moved at a slow pace yesterday and time seems to blur now. All of it becomes is the blurring of the grey around them, the feel of Harvests hand beneath hers and the burning of her chest as she desperately tries to suck air into her lungs.

She is doing a decent job at keeping pace, having run frequently inside of the District. But she can tell Harvest is struggling. Unlike her, he always worked to work. It is sheer adrenaline keeping him going. The adrenaline that will have to last much longer. _Can the beast swim?_ She hopes not, getting across the water is her only plan. _It can't swim. It just can't._

Her lungs are on fire like they never have been before and Harvest's hand threatens to slip out of Poppy's with the sweat cascading down his arm. His wound has started to bleed from where Poppy's fingers dug into his flesh. He looks forward, never backward. Gathering strength for Poppy and being able to keep her safe.

Poppy's heart leaps when she spots the shore with the colorful pebbles. It will be harder work running on it. _They can do it. They can get there._ That is until Harvest falls. His body gives out a few steps away from the pebbles and their linked connection pulls Poppy down too. She rolls out of the way as one of the legs stamps down on the ground next to her face. It's not just a leg, it's sharpened. It's a weapon.

The beast roars an inhuman screech as it stares down at the Tributes. "Get out of here!" Harvest yells desperately to Poppy. Blood runs from his forehead from where he fell, slicing it on a rock beneath. Poppy looks desperately to Harvest as she scampers back, one of her hands finds the colorful pebbles and she watches as the beast charges at Harvest. He rolls out of the way like she did and its leg sinks into the ground where his shoulder was only a few seconds ago.

 _I have to do something._ Poppy frantically searches through the bag, trying to make sense of the items they have been given. Surely, the Gamemakers would only give them something worth using. "Poppy!" Harvest yells and she pulls her face out of the bag. The beast has skewed Harvests foot underneath one of its legs and the pincers are coming down toward Harvest.

Poppy spots Harvests hatchet and moves without thinking, sprinting faster than she ever has before she grabs the hatchet from the ground and swings at one of the pincers. The hatchet makes a dull clanging sound before bouncing off of the beasts armored exterior. Before Poppy knows if it has swung one of its pincers sideways and sent her flying back toward the bag. She hits the ground with a cloud of dirt. She splutters in the dirt and watches at the beast grasps Harvest in one of its pincers. Claws. They are more like claws.

The sight of her best friend so desperate is what gives her clarity.

Gasping, she rushes to the bag. Refusing to look at what is happening to Harvest she turns her back to the beast. Opening the jar she shoves the waxy rope deep into the chemically smelling solid. On the jar's lid is a hole, covered by wax. She scrapes it off with urgent nails. Clawing at it. The hole she makes is a perfect fit for the rope.

She pulls the rope out of the jar as she gets the lighter out of the bag, shaky fingers make it impossibly hard to light. Then she hears Harvest cry out. She lets herself look up. Tears cascade from her vision at what she sees.

The beast has Harvest in its claws and is making that terrible sound. Harvest is trying to fight back, punching anything in reach his hands have become bloody from its hard shell. But it is no use. The beast is too strong for him. For any of the Tributes alone. Poppy spots what she needs to see. Its head is not under the protection of the shell. The smell of rotting flesh is coming from that spot, a white flesh exposed.

But Poppy can't make herself do it. She might hit Harvest. Her legs shake as she tries to get a clear view of the head, but it is shaking Harvest around. He cries out as one claw grabs his arm. It happens almost instantaneously. One moment Harvest's injured arm is there. The next it is gone.

The sight causes Poppy to throw up in her mouth, she lets it spill onto the pebbles. She has to do something now. Taking a deep breath she flicks the lighter. Finding an almost eerie calm time seems to move in slow motion around her. The flame bursts, she moves it towards the rope. Towards the wick.

When it has caught she stares at it until it has almost burned down completely, ready to light the chemical mixture beneath the lid. She takes a deep breath. She prays for Harvest even though she has never been religious and neither has he. She looks up. With all of her might, she throws the jar at the beasts face.

It barrels over the claws that hold the two parts of Harvest. Hitting the head smack on Poppy gasps, impossibly scared that it has not worked. Then an explosion happens. A roaring fireball bursts from where the head of the beast is and packs enough of a punch to send pieces of the decomposing flesh flying. Poppy feels it raining around her, as hot as blood. Pieces hit her bare skin as the beast collapses.

She no longer cares, rushing to its fallen body she desperately tries to find Harvest. Moving chunks of flesh out of the way she finds him. He has landed on the edge of the colorful shore. "Harvest," the word is almost a whisper as she looks at his ashen face.

He stares up at her, blood flowing in rapid waves from where he no longer is. She desperately rips off her jacket, trying to apply pressure to the stump of Harvests arm she tries to talk through her tears. She hears Harvest mumble beneath her but ignores him for the moment, trying desperately to stop the bleeding. "Poppy," his voice is finally hard enough to get her attention.

She looks down at him, her hot tears falling off of her cheeks and onto his. He reaches a hand up, caressing his cheek she is brought to when she woke yesterday. How he was doing the same action. Tears start to flow down his cheeks too.

"Poppy I need to tell you something," he says, his voice barely a whisper. Poppy gives up on the jacket. Leaning down she feels the heat of Harvest's skin beneath hers. She looks into his eyes, trying to soak up everything about him that she can as she waits for him to continue.

"Poppy, I love you." He confesses, his cheeks going pink despite himself. Poppy can only sob, wracks aching her body she sobs and sobs over the boy that loves her. That she loves.

It is like their time together flashes to Poppy in an instant. Her father teaching them their history as they sit next to the fire. The years they spent together picking fruit on the orchards. The smile that Harvest would get when he looked at her and though she wasn't looking. The way her friend teased her about the mutual crush at the reaping.

"I love you too," Poppy confesses.

Harvest's face turns shocked, then wrapped by a euphoric smile. He leans his head up and Poppy leans her towards his. Their lips meet in the middle, speaking for everything that they cannot. All of the time spent in each other's company. All of the wasted moments not being honest about how they feel. _In the fear of what? In the fear of nothing now._

"I've been wanting to do that for so long," Harvest whispers. Smiling at Poppy she can see blood on his gums. She tries not to cry, wanting to be strong for Harvest. She grabs his hand in hers and squeezes tight.

"Please don't leave me." She begs Harvest when his grip starts to weaken, squeezing even harder his hand slips out. He smiles up at her, his eyes starting to glaze over he fights through it for just a moment longer.

His remaining hand grasps to his pocket, in it he finds the turquoise pebble that Poppy gave him. He forces it toward Poppy, unable to speak with the exertion it is taking to move. She takes the pebble out of his hand. Tears falling even faster down her cheeks she starts to hiccup as she grasps his hand again. The pebble pressed in between both of their hands it connects them in a deeper way. In a way the kiss and the confession did.

"You...Your good luck charm. Use it well." Harvest whispers before his grip falls slack.

Crying, Poppy desperately begs Harvest to come back to her. The cannon has not fired yet. They still have time to fix him. A choking smoke has started to billow from the insides of the beast. It burns from the inside out. Poppy feels venom well up inside of her at what it is has done.

It gives her the strength to tilt her head again. She kisses Harvest, a long and deep kiss. She thinks she can feel Harvest's lips move into a smile beneath hers, but she cannot be sure.

Then the cannon booms.

 **Kalista Stone, 17, District 9.**

A cannon wakes Kalista from her sleep. Bolting upright she looks around wildly. Half expecting to see Caroline or Ollie face down on the ground with blood pooling out of them. But she doesn't. She stares directly into Ollie's eyes.

"What's going on?" She asks him, instantly awake.

"I'm not sure. We are all safe though," he moves his body away from Kalista's. Caroline can be seen behind, she holds her belly in a protective manner. She has burst to her feet, ready to take off she eyeballs the nearest tree.

"We should move anyway," Kalista tells Ollie. Her voice is more certain than her mind. He reaches a hand down and she takes it gratefully. She is pulled to her feet. Looking at the surrounding arena, it is too sparse. They need to get to somewhere they can hide. Fast.

Caroline starts marching toward the tree and Ollie shrugs his shoulders at Kalista. They follow in her wake, letting her take the charge. Caroline told them that she has a strange sense of direction, but it will lead them right. They can only hope in moments like these that it is true.

Ollies hand reaches out and Kalista grabs it gratefully. Smiling up at the boy they walk together in sync. Its eerie in the forest with no birds calling. The cannon seems to boom again and again on repeat in Kalista's mind. The first cannon since the bloodbath. It's foreboding. _Let the Games begin._

"Did I ever tell you about the time I predicted myself being reaped?" Kalista asks Ollie nonchalantly. She's not sure who she is trying to distract more, him or herself.

That startles Ollie and gets him to stock in his tracks. "You what?" He asks her. The complete confusion in Ollie's voice causes Kalista to laugh. She pulls his hand along and they walk again, Caroline still continuing to lead.

"Me and my friends have this tradition," Kalista starts to explain. "We pick the name of a boy and girl we think are going to be reaped then write it down and burn it." She looks over at Ollie's expression at what she is saying, his brow is furrowed.

"So on the morning of the reapings this year I had to write a name. I wrote myself." Kalista quietens, trying to bait Ollie into a response. He stays quiet for a while, their hands the only thing showing her that they are still connected.

"Why?" Ollies voice is barely a whisper.

"Why what?" Kalista asks him, her voice dipping to meet his.

Caroline looks over her shoulder at the two of them, cold eyes sweeping the two bodies she is leading to protection. Or damnation. It's almost the same thing inside of the Games.

"Why would you choose to write your own name down?" Ollie asks, his voice still low.

Kalista is taken aback by the question, taking a long moment she thinks it over. "Because it felt right," she finally says. The two of them walk in silence. "Have you ever just known when something is right?" Ollie opens his mouth to reply but then closes it. He glances to where their fingers are tangles together, the forest blurring underneath them.

"Yes," he tells her, suddenly understanding with perfect clarity.

Kalista smiles softly at him.

 **Weiss Forge, 18, District 1.**

"That cannon better not of been Blake getting a kill," Carolyn growls when she hears the noise. The girls have stopped in their tracks. Running through groves and trees they have marked the time with the position of the sun and the radio calls from Ace. It's like he has nothing better to do than annoy the girls. Then again, he probably doesn't.

"You'll just have to get two to beat him," Weiss replies. Carolyn looks over at the girl. Not sure if Weiss was making fun of her or not. But Weiss just looks straight ahead, trying to listen to the sounds of the forest around them. She can tell that there is something up with Carolyn's hearing. Earlier, she failed to notice the sound of a branch snapping and she ignores Weiss's questions frequently. Or maybe she's just silent all the time. But Weiss thinks its something more, she's more than willing to talk when she catches the question.

"Not at this rate," Carolyn states sadly. "We haven't seen a single Tribute yet." Her words only increase the unease in Weiss's belly. Surely they should have found someone by now. Despite the earlier cannon, there has only been one since the bloodbath. The audience is hungry with bloodlust.

Weiss remembers what her father told her the night before the Games began. _If you're not finding a Tribute its because the Gamemakers want to make you look harder. Put on a show_. "Let's take a quick break," Weiss tells Carolyn. Slowing her pace she waits to see if Carolyn will stop running. The other girl looks annoyed but matches her pace.

They slow down gently together. Eventually stopping they stretch aching muscles out as they rehydrate. Nether is hungry. Instead of eating they sit in an awkward silence. It's only accentuated by the lack of noise coming from the forest around them.

"Do you ever smile?" Weiss blurts out, staring at Carolyn.

Carolyn's eyebrow furrow. "Not in the Games," she states simply. She has picked up a twig and is stripping the bark off of it methodically. Exposing its waxy under-layer to the sun.

"Why'd you volunteer?" Weiss continues the interrogation, trying to get more out of the Tribute that they all know so little about. She knows that the sponsors will be curious about this girl, she has been in the shadow of her District partner for so long.

"To get the most kills," Carolyn replies. She bites her lower lip as she continues to stip the bark off of the twig. She grips it tightly like she is expecting it to run from her at any moment.

Weiss now takes up her expression, scowling at the ground. "Who's the boy you kissed in your Goodbyes?" She asks boldly, her eyes gleaming.

The stick in Carolyn's hands snaps. Its cracking is the loudest thing this section of the forest has heard since the Games began. The scowl on Carolyn's face could melt a steel beam. "Someone from my past," Carolyn emphasizes the last word of her sentence as she gets up abruptly.

"Let's go," she tells Weiss. Not bothering to wait for the other girl to get off of the ground she takes off further into the forest. Weiss has to work to keep up with the girl, her pace much faster than it was before.

The two run together in a stormy silence. Neither willing to bridge the gap. They are here to work together as Careers. Nothing more. Carolyn plots ways of killing Tributes inside of her mind while Weiss thinks back to the anger management techniques that her father taught her. Neither girl is happy with the arrangement.

 **Callum Lennon, 18, District 3.**

The pair stumbles out of the caves. Battling through the strongest wind they have felt it seems almost impossible to escape. Their hands linked is the only thing that keeps them grounded as they continue their ascent. A steep climb the scent of fresh air has started on the breeze. The scent makes Callum dizzy with longing. He has started to forget everything but the caves.

When he finally reaches the surface it takes his eyes longer than expected to adjust to the light. He can sense Talia shielding her eyes next to him and a sliver of fear goes through him, they would be sitting duck if another Tribute spotted them right at this moment. But neither of them can care, they can smell the fresh air and feel sunlight on their skin. When their eyes adjust Callum beams down at Talia, she smiles back at him. Both feel on top of the world at this moment.

Until a twig snaps next to them.

A short boy appears, with pale hair and green eyes he smiles at the Tributes. Looking only slightly weary. Large bags hang underneath his eyes and he has some kind of green paste on his skin, it makes him look sickly.

"Who the hell are you?" Callum blurts out.

The boy breaks into a smile, obviously not thinking that the pair is a threat. "Jerry," he tells them, sticking his hand out it takes a moment for Callum to realize that he wants him to shake it. He takes the boys hand and is shocked at how grubby he is, his skin seems to of turned grey. A sludgy substance can be felt in his hair and his wounds ache.

Jerry does not seem to mind the muck, shaking Talia's hand after his he looks at the pair. "How long have you been in there?" He asks them, pointing with his thumb to the cave that they have appeared out of.

"We're not sure. Since the Games began." Callum replies, looking uneasy. He has no idea how long it has been. Jerry's eyebrows raise.

"It's been two nights since the Games began." He informs the pair. Callum's face drops, they were in the caves for two nights. Two cold and cruel nights full of stumbling about and pain. He grasps Talia closer to him, not worrying about her grubbiness.

A million questions pop to Callum's head. But Talia is the first one to ask, "how many are dead?"

A pained expression crosses Jerry's face. "Seven died in the bloodbath and a cannon sounded a few hours ago. So eight." Eight down. Fifteen to go. There are still so many, but so many have died.

Jerry reaches into a backpack he holds and Callum immediately tenses. Shoving Talia behind his body he is wired for what may happen. But Jerry merely grasps a canteen from it and offers it to the pair. Callum takes it gratefully and passe sit to Talia who drinks from it like she has never tasted water before. She may as well of not. Its been that long.

Jerry tenses for a moment, as if listening to the wind. "Watch out, the Careers are on the move. They'll be in this area soon" He tells the duo before starting to walk away. Callum is confused at his sudden change of manor and grabs the wrist of his jacket.

"How do you know?" Callum asks him, fear and exhaustion creeping into his voice.

Jerry looks annoyed before he uses all of his force to push the boy off of him. Callum falls backward as Jerry runs off. Talia passes the canteen down to Callum and he thanks her gratefully. They sit on the forest floor together for a few more moments. Then Callum recognizes the danger if the boy's words are a true warning. _What would he gain from lying?_

"We need to move," he tells Talia. Taking her hand back he gives her the last of the water. She nods before they are both distracted yet again. This time by a silver parachute carrying a large silver box beneath it.

"We do have sponsors," she whispers excitedly to Callum. Her eyes lighting up at the size of the gift. He looks wearily back at her.

 **Nathaniel Mattingly 18, District 2.**

Nate stares up the cliff next to him. Now dawn has started blending into midday he can clearly see the figure of a girl huddled into a small crevice in the rocks. He can't remember the name of the Tribute, only that she is from Seven. He thought that her and her District partner we're allied. She could do with some of her partners help right about now.

He throws up a rock, it hits the cliff next to her. Causing some of the cliff face to split into shards. A couple of them hit the Tribute and startle her out of her sleep. She looks down, confused. Her eyes meet Nates. They are not scared, more exhausted. Nate smiles at her, showing his teeth. She looks away, searching for footholds in the rock.

Nate looks over to where Blake sleeps against one of the flat rocks. He has his jacket propped under his head to make a pillow, loud snores escape on his exhales. Nate rolls his eyes. He has never understood how some people sleep so easily. Nate can't sleep without a blanket wrapped around him.

He nudges Blake with his boot. Hitting the boys chest sharply. Blakes snores stop for a moment as if testing the air. Then they resume again, even louder. Nate exhales loudly before kicking Blake. Right on his bruise from his fall yesterday.

Blake yelps as he opens his eyes, swinging his hands aimlessly he tries to fight off an attacker. Nate looks at him with a smirk on his face. Blake only brought his trident and a knife. The knife Nate holds in his left hand, gripping the blade. Blake looks confused for a moment before he scowls at Nate. Rubbing his ribs where the bruise is he grabs his knife out of Nate's hand.

"Your girl is getting away," Nate tells Blake his voice monotone.

Blake looks up, seeing the figure of the girl moving further and further up the cliff face he scowls at Nate. He throws the knife with all of his might in a rage. It skews to the left, landing just below the girl's arm. She yelps in fright, starting back she waits for more knives to be thrown. But after nothing does she wriggles the knife out of the cliff before continuing to climb. The knife tucked into her belt.

"Aren't you going to do something?" Blake asks Nate, kicking the rock in front of him he winces at the pain it causes in his toes. The rock makes no sign of distress. It only angers Blake more.

"What? Like climb up and fall off like you? I'm good." Nate replies, staring at the rock that Blake just kicked. In truth, he has a couple more knives in his backpack. Yet he has no interest in giving them to Blake only for the boy to miss again. His sword will be useless against the Tribute.

Blake huffs beside him, watching the girl climb higher and higher up the cliff. He watches until she seems to reach the top of the cliff face, ending up on an upward slope on the cone-shaped mountain. She smiles down at the duo, pulling the finger at them she climbs to the side until she is out of the boy's eyesight.

The boys stand next to each other, neither wanting to be the first one to speak. "You could have thrown something at her," Blake tells Nate, annoyance seeping from his voice.

"Could have," Nate muses.

 **Oliver Apollo, 17, District 5.**

The sound of footsteps jolts Oliver out of his sleep. He walked with the girls for a while longer before exhaustion set in. He had not gotten a wink of sleep since the Games began and they had decided to call it there. Lying underneath a grove of bushes Caroline was supposed to keep watch. Climbing a tree nearby she was supposed to call if anything happened.

 _The girls must just be coming back from something then_ , he thinks to himself. That is until he feels a sharp nudge to his side and opens his eyes into Kalista's frightened ones. "There's two of them, they are coming this way," she whispers into his ear. Ollie looks wide-eyed before jumping up.

He just sees the buzzed hair of Caroline rushing away when two figures burst into the groove. Oliver's heart drops. They are Careers. "Run!" He yells to Kalista, grabbing her arm they burst into the undergrowth. They are running for their lives.

In her arm, she carries the scythe and Ollie has a large knife strapped to his belt. But Caroline has all of the supplies. Ollie has no idea what to think, she was supposed to warn them. That is the only thing he knows. Fighting harder he pushes Kalista to run just a little bit faster. He can hear the footsteps behind them getting louder and louder. The Careers are putting on a show.

They continue to run, their hearts beating faster and faster inside of their chests. A roar ahead gets louder and louder but they cannot change their path. They break out into a clearing, a waterfall can be heard from inside of the underbrush. Essentially hiding the noise of the footsteps.

Ollie then spots something, to the right is a large mound. It looks like several decaying trees have fallen on top of each other and they cover a portion of the ground. Oliver barely thinks, his body reacting before his mind he throws his body sideways, bringing Kalista with him. It takes everything she has not to cry out as they hit the ground hard. Ollie landing on top of her.

Ollie bashes his chin on Kalista's shoulder in the fall, causing his two front teeth to embed themselves in his lower lip. Blood soon streams down his mouth, its hot liquid making filling his mouth at a growing pace. But he does not cry in pain, covering Kalista's mouth with his large hand he keeps her quiet. She whimpers in pain beneath him, panting.

He tries to calm his rapid heartbeat as the two Careers go streaming passed. Continuing forward they shout commands that Olie cannot hear over the roar of the waterfall. His heart beats rapidly in his chest, pressing his body hard against Kalistas one moment then far away from the next.

As soon as the two girls are out of sight he gets of Kalista. "Run with me," he tells her, getting up from the ground he pulls her with him. Soon they are running again. But Kalista cannot keep up. It takes everything that she has to not drop the scythe that she is holding. Ollie notices the change, taking a deep breath he scoops the girl up, she seems heavier than yesterday. But the adrenaline that flows through Ollie makes him barely notice.

He rushes back into the undergrowth, charging through brambles tear at his pants causing large rips through the fabric. He keeps going, more hot blood streaming from him onto the ground he is looking for something specific. There. He spots the waterfall.

The hunch he has is no more than a gut instinct. Ollie has always trusted his gut. The waterfall falls into a large circular lake. It's as long as the pool in the Training Center to reach the waterfall. Ollie has never tried swimming with someone else before. But he has no other choice. _If they stay in the forest they will surely be found._

He bursts into the water, creating a roaring splash. "Hold on," he yells to Kalista as he charges forward, using all of his force he propels himself out to the center of the lake. A burning pain shoots from his side, it's the stitch like he has never known it before. Gasping for air he continues to propel his body forward. There is no other option now.

 _Almost there, just keep going a little longer_ he promises himself. _It will be over soon._ A slight movement from Kalista on his back almost sends him over the edge. He uses that last little burst of adrenaline to get to the other side. Tears streaming down his vision in the pain that it has created.

He fees a moment of euphoria when he realizes that his hunch was correct. Dragging Kalista into a small cave behind the opening of the waterfall. The ground slowly turns from water to earth after they get under the torrent of water falling from above them. First, Ollie can feel his toes touch the ground. Then his feet. Then it gets shallower and shallower. He pulls Kalista up with him as he climbs onto stony earth.

"We lost them," Ollie tells Kalista collapsing onto the earth. Its flat and cool and tears of relief flow down his cheeks. She looks back at him with still wide eyes, her chest rising and falling rapidly she tries to nod.

Ollie shoots back up, despite the pain he feels he can tell that something is wrong. Kalista bursts out into a coughing fit, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Ollie feels alarm shooting through his veins when he sees her spit blood onto the ground beneath them. He pulls himself over to her as she struggles to breathe.

Utter panic courses through Ollie at the situation. _They are supposed to be safe now. They have to be safe now._ He moves his body behind Kalistas. Sitting with his legs crossed he gets her to lie down. Resting her head on his legs he tries to support her as much as he can. She continues to cough and her chest wracks. Tears start to roll down Ollie's cheeks. "It's going to be okay," he tells her as she wheezes.

"It's got to be okay," Ollie desperately hopes that it will be the truth. Kalista breaks into another coughing fit, more blood coming up she barely has the energy to spit it out. It dribbles down her cheek. Into Ollies lap.

She looks up at Ollie, pain clear in her face. Sweat makes her hair stick to her forehead like glue and she shakes all over. "Don…..Don't." She tries to speak, her words coming out raspy and faint. Blood vessels have popped in her eyes from the force of the coughs, their crimson streaks matching the ones coming from her mouth.

"Don't…. Don't trust Caroline," she manages to get out. Gasping for breath none comes back to her. Ollie can barely see her through the tears streaming down his cheeks. This is impossible. He was sleeping just a few minutes ago. _This is all a bad dream._

"Save your breath," Ollie begs, clinging onto a desperate hope that she will get better. Surely a Sponsor can send them something to fix Kalista up. They must have sponsors. Surely someone can do something. _Can't they see that she needs help?_

"You...you're a good man Ollie." Kalista rasps, her body shakes from coughs but she can't make herself spit any more blood. It collects in her mouth, trickling slowly from her lips. The rest falls back down her throat. "Make it home for me," she whispers, her voice barely audible.

Ollie cries out "it's going to be okay," he tells her desperately. "You can get through this, we can do this." Ollie refuses to believe that Kalista can die. Not the Kalista who got a nine, who scored as high as the Careers. Who banded together an alliance. Who survived the bloodbath with her weapon of choice. Who he patched up. "You can't die," he cries out, his tears are wetting her face, but she barely notices.

 _A grey fog has started to creep through Kalista, heavy and thick it smells slightly of sage and cinnamon. Kalista is oddly at peace inside of the fog, it's warm and slightly damp. A figure appears through the fog and Kalista feels happiness course through her being. "Bonnie?" She asks, staring at the figure._

 _"Hey Kal," she says, wrapping the girl in a hug. It's just like Kalista remembers, part of her thought that she would never see her best friend again._

 _"What are you doing here?" Kalista asks her, her mind feels foggy and there's a pain in her chest. But she can't focus on those things, not with her best friend in front of her. Bonnie opens her mouth to reply but then Ryder and Lincoln appear out of the fog too Kalista rushes over to them. More arms fall around her and she looks up to see all of her family and friends around her._

 _She smiles at them, a beaming smile. Bonnie links one of her hands into hers. "We are here to lead you home," she explains. Kalista looks sadly back over to her, wrapping her in the biggest and hardest hug that she can._

 _"I'm not ready to leave," Kalista tells her._

 _Bonnie looks at her sadly, before she leans in. Placing her lips softly against Kalista's. The connection is soft and electric and so right._

 _"No one ever is," Bonnie replies when they finally break away._

Back in the arena, Ollie watches as a smile grows on Kalista's face as he stares into her glazed eyes. He cries and begs as her heartbeats get less and less pronounced in her chest. More blood comes to her lips, her body convulsing. "Please! Don't go!" Ollie yells, he can no longer see with all of the tears that run down his cheeks.

But he can still hear.

The booming of the cannon tells him when it is all over.

 **Blake Calloun, 17, District 4.**

Blake has had a scowl on his face since the girl got away. Staring down at the ground stays silent while he and Nate walk. It's a thick silence, full of disappointment and unused aggression. They have been walking for almost an hour. Not trying to make a quick pace they are nearing the cornucopia, but neither can see it. Its blocked by the terrain that has become deadly once more.

Blake's thoughts are dangerous. He is ready to kick off. _I lost my trident_. There's only the one left and Carolyn is currently using it. Blake will have to fight the girl to get it off of her. But he does not mind that, it's a way to spill his agitation out.

"I thought you said the boy was with her," Nate growls at Blake.

Blake stares back at him, his expression incredulous. "Seriously? That's all you can think about. You let that bitch get away!" Blake yells, his voice projects over the ocean flowing below the pathway.

Nate looks back at Blake tiredly. Running a hand through his cropped hair the bags under his eyes look painful. "I'm not interested in her, or your fucking tantrum Blake." The two boys have stopped walking, they stand on a narrow section of path. Below them, the ocean can be heard at a roar crashing into the rocks. Tension starts to crackle in the air like electricity, the slightest spark able to set the boys on fire.

Blake glares at Nate. "Who made you in charge? Last I checked your another Tribute, just like the rest of us." His voice is cold, he has been embarrassed by the girl and he is not willing to repeat that shame now with Nate. He stares at Nate, his lip curling up into a sneer.

Nate breathes deeply, his hands balled into tight fists he turns his back on Blake. Continuing to walk forward his body seems to convulse with anger. It's a formidable sight, but it's not enough to get Blake to back off.

"What? Cat got your tongue?" Blake belittles Nate. Blake has no worries about someone overhearing them, his voice projects right out. "So ready to run back to your unconscious girlfriend? I bet she's dead already and we missed the cannon."

Nate stops dead in his tracks. Turning slowly, he faces Blake.

"What did you just say to me?" Nates voice is flat and barely above a whisper, he takes a step toward Blake. His eyes are stormy, darkness rolls off of his body. It takes over the air Blake is trying to suck into his body and he gets an odd feeling of suffocation.

Blake pushes his arms out, hitting Nate in the chest. Nate stumbles a couple of steps backward, his expression only turning darker. "I said I bet she's dead," Blake repeats the cruel words, malicious intent dripping from his voice.

Nates eyes go hard. "Do you even care about Esme?" The change of subject startles Blake as the two boys stare each other off. Nate's back is to the jagged rocks and Blake's is to the ocean below.

Blake laughs out loud. "Of course not, I'd rather have Cassia," he winks at Nate.

That does it.

Nate charges forward, swinging an arm he punches Blake across his jaw. Blakes' head snaps back at the impact, blood dribbling down his chin from where he bit his tongue. Blake spits blood and saliva down on the path as he charges at Nate.

Blake plays dirty, charging forward he lifts his leg upward. Nate assumes he's going for his abdomen so ducks downward but Blake continues the strike. Pushing his leg outward he kicks Nate in the groin, pushing his body against the jagged rocks behind him Nates back hits them hard. Blood starts to drip out the back of Nate's shirt, the boy groans in pain.

Blake continues to advance, aiming a fist at Nates head he attempts to knock the boy out. Nate dodges out of the way at the last moment. The momentum in Blakes' arm makes his fist continue onward, smashing into the sharp rocks. He howls in pain as one of the shards goes cleanly through his index finger.

With tears spotting Nates vision he wraps Blake in a low tackle, propelling the boy's body toward the edge of the pathway. Blake tries to wriggle from the lock, but Nate is stronger than him. Trying to dig his boots into the edge Blake pounds his fists against Nates back, causing the boy below him to grunt but nothing else.

Panic floods into Blake as the ground starts to crumble beneath him, showing how close to the edge they both are. In a last-ditch attempt, Blake wriggles once again, bringing a knee up he slams it into Nates chest.

Nates grip on Blake drops at the impact and Nate is pushed backward, falling hard against the ground. But not before he gets a final kick into Blakes' stomach. He sends the boy catering over the edge of the pathway they walk on.

Blake feels a sensation of weightlessness as his body is propelled towards the water. It's almost peaceful. A smirk is on his face by the time he impacts with the ocean. His back hitting it first it causes pain to flare up all over his body. It's like liquid fire as the frigid water sucks up his body. Blake has never felt more alive.

* * *

 **Authors note: This will be the last chapter of the Games before Christmas (sorry), I'll have the Capitol chapter of day three out in the next couple of days - it's going to be a goodie. But as for the main story, unfortunately, this is all I can offer. Sorry about the long wait on it, life happens. I hope the excitement inside of this chapter made up for it.**

 **Have a happy holiday's everyone! I hope it all goes well for you :) Let me know? My PM's are always open :)**

 **Thank you like always for reading. What was your reaction to this chapter? What do you predict for the next day?**

 **May the odds be ever in your favor,**

 **And,**

 **Thank you for your sacrifice.**

* * *

 **Eulogies:**

 **17th: Harvest Kohl, 15, District 11. Killed by a mutt. Created by curiousclove. Harvest was a special Tribute, so pure at heart and trying to be positive he just wanted to protect his crush. He sacrificed himself for her, even if he did not realize it at the moment and Poppy will surely be devastated. His memory will live on, and the courageous actions that he left. I think he would be happy, Poppy told him how she felt and they we're able to share a moment. I'll miss writing you Harvest, you and Poppy we're so cute together.**

 **16th: Kalista Stone, 17, District 9. Killed by Oliver. Created by The Girl With The Knives. Kalista's death was so hard for me to write, the reason for me balling my eyes out late at night. Shes a Tribute I got attached to but never really managed to spread that attraction. Her death is going to devastate Oliver and impact his Games forward. She could have made it so much further. Never getting to show off all of the skill and potential the Gamemakers saw in her. She's a Tribute I will miss deeply.**

* * *

 **Sponsoring Information:**

Sponsoring is now open to your Tributes, or any Tributes that you would like to sponsor.

To Sponsor please stay active on the story and then PM me following this form;

Who would you like to Sponsor?

What would you like to Sponsor them?

Why do they deserve the item?

How could they use it to win?

What has been your favorite moment so far inside of the story?

You don't have to do huge answers to the questions, a sentence would do.

* * *

 **The fallen:**

 **Day One:**

 **24th: Flint Fraser, 13, District 12. Killed by Blake. Created by iridescenteverdeen** **. Flint became one of my favorite characters and I shed some tears thinking that he had to go. He was just too young and too scrawny. His persistence optimism followed him to the end and I'll miss him.**

 **23rd: Pricilla Winters, 15, District 12. Killed by Carolyn. Created by Mewkitcat** **. Pricilla fought to the end, her fear leading her to turn on those she probably could have trusted. Her family will miss her deeply, its almost fitting that she followed her District Partner out.**

 **22nd: Weft Loomis, 15, District 8. Killed by Ace. Created by** **destiny's sweet melody. Weft has a hard life, he had a solid plan but unfortunately was carried away by talk of alliances and those he trusted. His interview will be remembered as one of the best and his quirky sarcasm will be missed. He's with his mother and sister now.**

 **21st: Cole Rockweld, 15, District 9. Killed by Cassia. Created by The-Moth-God. Cole was a Tribute I think many expected to go far inside the Games. He almost did, but the true worth of alliances was shown at his expense. Cole did not go easily and he will leave his mark in the Games with the injuries he inflicted on Ace. He died fighting, Barrick can be proud of that.**

 **20th: Trafalgar Zaun, 15, District 10. Killed by Weiss. Created by 66samvr. Trav, they were different from any other Tribute I have seen before. They were so interesting to write and almost made it away. They can find solace in the friend they made in Eva, the true acceptance of their identity she had. But it is a bittersweet ending.**

 **19th: Eva Brath, 14, District 10. Killed by Esme. Created by Team Shadow. Eva was never designed to win these Games and I think most people saw that. I added a lot of backstory to this Tribute myself and she will always have a special spot. She can be with her sisters and father now, the hope that her youngest sister is not reaped will live on with the Capitol. That's all she ever wanted.**

 **18th: Violet Mercury, 14, District 8. Killed by Blake. Created by Booklovin'03. Violet, like Eva was never meant to win these Games. I think she knew that too. I think she would be okay with that, she wasn't sure if she wanted to win. Jasper will surely mourn her and her death will affect the District. It just wasn't meant to be.**


	41. Living Ghosts

**Aetius Valter, 54, The Capitol.**

Footsteps march toward Aetius on a harsh white tiled floor. He lifts his head up, trapped in a metallic cage he has had no human contact since he was dragged out of the house the night before the Games.

He has been stopped over, his face scarcely leaving the palm of his hands. Only looking up in brief moments at a television screen where the Games play. He has been keeping just enough track on it to know who is alive and who is dead.

He took a special interest in this mornings footage. His mutt being released flawlessly. He half expected them to have found his creation, destroyed it or sectioned off that part of the arena. But they didn't and Aetius's gift gave them a present in the form of a dead Tribute.

The footsteps ought to be revenge for that.

It is only expected after all.

When two sets of footsteps stop in front of his cell he stares ahead. His bloodshot eyes meeting with someone he expected. Yet the sight of them staring back at him on the side of freedom causes him to burst out in hysterical laughter. His body convulses in the laughter as he continues to look into the eyes of the man that replaced him.

"Get him to the room," Bastion explains to the man next to him. Who, looking over Aetius sees is none other but the President's personal monkey. Her private security guard. Aetius never bothered to learn the man's name.

He handles Aetius with rough fingers, they dig into his flesh as the man marches him back towards the way that Aetius entered this maze of a building. Aetius struggles to get a grip on the layout. Sterile tiled floors and white walls with no windows surround him. The hallway twists and turns, leading to multiple sets of doors Aetius gets disoriented and dizzy. He has not been eating nearly as well as he used to. _I guess that's what happens when you let yourself get arrested.  
_  
He ends up on a hard wooden backed chair. Its the only chair in another windowless room. There is a drain in the center of the room, this does not bode well in Aetius's mind at all. His arms are strapped down to the chair, using tight leather straps.

The two men stand tall as Aetius is sitting down from them, he cranes his neck up. Looking into the eyes of Bastion he smiles at the man who has taken his place as Head Gamemaker. He certainly does not look to be faring well, purple bags sit under his eyes and his pale hair is disheveled.

Aetius takes pride in the fact he still looks better than the current Game Maker. He was able to keep his suit that he was arrested in and he has kept his hair well kept. His appearance is the only thing that he has control over now. He is determined to look good like he always has. No matter what is to happen to him.

"What else do you have hiding in the arena?" Bastions question is expected, yet it causes another wave of laughter to wrack Aetius's body. Aetius did not realize how much this solitary confinement has affected him. He enjoys this opportunity to chat with others, even if they are as distaining as the Presidents puppets.

"Wouldn't you have found it by now if I had anything else?" Aetius answers Bastions question with another. Knowing full well that he has the contacts to hide another mutt or surprise for this Gamemaker. By the way Bastion is looking at him he knows that too.

Bastion looks over at the man next to him, the long scar catching the harsh white lights of the room and making him look grotesque. _Almost as grotesque as the Victor from 12_. Aetius's lip curling into a sneer at the thought of that Victor. How anyone can live with that appearance is beyond Aetius. He would rather just end it all. Then again, he already tried that.

The situation he is in right now is a harsh reminder that he failed.

Then he has no time to think about that, the man's fist connects with Aetius's abdomen. Aetius grunts at the force of the impact. His meager breakfast makes its way back up his throat he spits vomit in the direction of the man. He dodges out of the way neatly. Aetius continues to glare at him, nausea flowing to his head and burning pain at where the man's fist connected.

Bastion takes a step forward. "I said, what else are you hiding?" He repeats his question. Aetius feels fury flowing through his veins at the way the man has degraded him. Not even a week ago Aetius was untouchable, he could have this _Tribute_ killed with the simplest of command. Now he can't even use the bathroom without some guard leering at him.

Aetius looks up at Bastion, before breaking into a toothy grin. "You'll just have to wait and find out," he sneers.

Bastion looks over to the other man again and Aetius braces for another punch to the gut. But this time it is his head that is hit. An explosive impact can be felt to the side of his head, a headache bursts behind his eyes almost instantaneously.

He swims on the edge of consciousness as the two men start to talk.

"How much do you think he knows?"

"More than he's telling us."

"Will we be able to find out what it is?"

"When he's more broken. Right now he's just pissed off, keep your Gamemakers on it. They're more likely to find a lead than he is. Besides, he just released his biggest mutt. Anything else he could do will have minimal impact compared to that."

Aetius finds his half-conscious mind annoyed at the unnamed man's rational thinking. He wants to yell out, to spit at the men that plotted against him. But he can't. He has an odd feeling of drifting outside of his body. Then sweeping darkness in the form of black takes over his vision.

He drifts away as he feels his body start to be lifted and dragged back toward the cell. But he's so lost in the floating it does not feel like his own body anymore. Simply a vessel.


	42. Flood (GAMES - DAY 4)

**Jerry Kapper, 15, District 6.**

The rain started as the day ended. Dark storm clouds could barely be seen in the dark twilight of the night. But it could certainly be felt. It falls from the sky in torrents, hotter than the air they warm Jerry momentarily. Then they get cold. Impossibly cold.

The roar of the rain is enough to drown out the pounding inside of Jerry's heart as he scurries to find a dry place. Cursing his luck he hugs his pack tightly to his chest, what he has discovered it to contain is invaluable. Rushing underneath trees and getting his boots caught into shrubs he runs with all the speed he can muster, and tears in his eyes.

He tries to quieten the sobs that are threatening to wrack through his body at what he just witnessed. _Can't cry now. Need to find a safe spot._ He makes his thoughts his mantra as he stumbles further into the forest. No longer concerned about following a broken alliance he only hopes that he won't come across the others that prowl inside of these woods.

He thinks that he sees a shape moving in the corner of his eyes, but he refuses to look. The fear that lives in his heart at the moment is enough to keep him running, any more could break him completely. Though, he feels broken already. _They weren't even in your alliance. She didn't even know you exist._

The brush is getting thicker in front of Jerry. A grove of vines curl up around each other and there seems to be a darker patch, an opening. Jerry can barely see his hands in front of his face and he can't spend the whole night wandering. Instead, he decides to take a risk. Squeezing both of his hands together for a moment to try and ground himself he falls to his knees and starts to wriggle inside of the small opening.

Immediately, the sound of the rain quietens from underneath. He can feel the damp ground underneath his hands and hisses as he catches one on something sharp. But he continues forward, fear clawing its way inside of his imagination.

Then the ground starts to get dry, dirt replaces the damp grass and Jerry stares upward. The vines create a canopy above him, but he can see a couple of cracks through to the sky. He flinches as drop lands right inside of his eye and backs away for a moment. Then the anthem starts to play.

It's jarring to Jerry's ears. They have not played the anthem since the first night. Looking back through the crack the first face he sees is Kalistas. He closes his eyes, letting the tears leak from the corners of his vision. Inside of the darkness of his mind, he sees it. Caroline abandoning them without a word. Ollie dragging Kalista away. The _crack_ that Kalista's ribs made when Ollie landed on top of her. The way her face paled straight after. Crimson. There was a crimson dribble down her cheek almost instantaneously after. _She never caught her breath again.  
_  
Jerry opens his eyes again, only to stare into the face of the boy from District 11. Harvest Khol. _I don't think I ever talked to him._ The boy's death does not affect Jerry in the way that Kalista's does. He did not see that one happen. He did not watch that boy for days debating starting an alliance. There was not one person that stopped him from doing it.

The person who ended up betraying them.

Jerry feels his blood start to boil at this girl. This _monster_. First, she turned on Trav and got them killed. Now she turned on her alliance. The members that Jerry watched her joke and laugh with. The members that trusted her enough to sleep under her watch. Only to be betrayed.

Needing to do something with his hands Jerry squeezes them again. His green coating has washed off in the rain. His skin on his hands almost glows in the slight darkness and he tugs his sleeves down as long as they go, feeling self-conscious despite himself.

His jacket and pants have done a good job as keeping the water out, but his hair is plastered down and his teeth chatter from where his face has been exposed to the weather. The arena seems to have dropped several degrees almost instantaneously.

With a leap of his heart, Jerry opens his pack. The dark object he previously had no name for seems to be in the same condition it was placed into his pack in. Luckily, it has a plastic shell that should protect it from the weather. Jerry wipes the droplets that have gotten to it off quickly. It has to still work.

Opening the box he fiddles with the dials before extending a piece of wire out from it. He turns the dial on the side to barely a whisper as he clicks on a series of numbers. There is nothing but a faint humming. Then he clicks over to another one.

"What the fu-?"

"Just get back here. How far away are you?"

"Hard to judge in this weather. Maybe 30."

"Keep an open mind."

"Whatever."

The voices have a distinct metallic pitch that makes them hard to tell apart. As far as Jerry known only the Careers have the radios. They seem to have three. He tries the other channel again but it just comes out with a low static.

Jerry closes his eyes again, glad for the brief reprieve. But impossibly scared, scared of what the future brings inside of a place as damned as this arena. With his eyes closed, Jerry almost misses the parachute that lands outside of the vines that he crawled under. But a booming clap of thunder causes him to open his eyes just as the parachute lands.

 **Ace Platinum, 18, District 1.  
**  
"The girls will be here soon," Ace announces to the rest of the Careers. They sit inside of the cornucopia, the harsh ground covered with blankets and supplies to make it bearable to sleep on.

The tarpaulins that Ace put up in previous days have collapsed with the weight of the rain, the supplies that were ones underneath are now piled in corners of the cornucopia. The Careers are lucky that it is a large one this year, expanding underneath into the rocky terrain half of it is carved into the stone beneath them.

"You've got a lot of explaining to do," Ace tells Nate. He lies on his chest on top of one of the stretchers, his back exposed. Cassia has been cleaning out the jagged cuts that litter it, tearing at his skin they cross over half-formed scabs.

Nate nods back. His expression grim. He has not said much since he returned, just as the rain started to batter down. Covered in cuts and with a distinct absence of Blake. _It was only a matter of time with those two,_ Ace thinks to himself. Yet he finds himself surprised, he expected it to be later on in the Games.

Cassia has perked up even more. Receiving a parachute with an unknown medicine inside of it she took two pale white pills. Now she cares to Nate's cuts with an almost familiar look on her face, it makes Ace feel embarrassed to witness. He looks away from them and toward Esme, she smiles back at him.

 _I think Nate just stole your girl._ Esme mouths the words to Ace and he laughs out loud when he connects them to the earlier conversation they had. The other two pay no attention to his laugh so Ace wiggles his eyebrows at Esme.

 _I think she has a distinct lack of being my girlfriend._ Ace replies causing Esme to laugh. The two continue with a soundless conversation as the world gets pitch back around them. Ace starts to take on a distinctive trait of trying to spot the missing girls ins the surrounding darkness. But it is useless, he can't see anything in the black.

When he has almost given up hope, and about to check in with the radio to figures appear. He grabs his spear, his muscles tensing as the figures get closer. He relaxes when he spots Carolyn and Weiss's distinct silhouettes.

They collapse onto the blankets, dripping wet their teeth chatter. Ace throws a couple more blankets toward them and they look gratefully at him. Their eyes then open in surprise when they notice the two in the corner of the room.

"You're awake?" Weiss bursts out, staring at Cassia.

Cassia looks back at her. Flashing a smile before she replies, "last time I checked."

Weiss snorts.

"Who killed the Tributes?" Carolyn asks, scowling at the floor.

Aces eyes widen. He assumed that it was the girls that got the kills. "No one here. The girl Nate was stalking got away from him. We all assumed you did it." Esme nods along with what Ace has said, overcome with nervousness now the Career pack is back to its strength.

Carolyn hisses, stabbing the ground with a dagger that seems to fly into her hand. She goes through the blanket, chipping off a shard of the ground it ricochets across the cornucopia. Esme yelps as it hits her leg, causing blood to start to bloom beneath her pants.

"Cool it." Ace has no need to yell in the confined space and his voice is amplified. It causes the Careers to freeze for a moment. Thunder cracks overhead and the rain gets even heavier, it would be impossible to hear someone talking at a normal volume.

"Nate, now we are all here. Tell us what happened with Blake." With that, a tension forms around the Careers.

Nate changes positions he sits up in the cot, leaning his back gingerly against the side of the cornucopia. A blanket is wrapped around his bloody singlet. It's almost more shreds than clothing but he wears it with a composure more dignified than the garment deserves. He wraps the blanket tighter around himself subconsciously.

"Blake and I were both pretty set to blow. The girl we were stalking had gotten away and Blake was pretty embarrassed about the situation," Nate starts to explain in a calm voice. He barely has to strain over the weather, his voice just naturally projecting into a position of leadership.

"On our way back something snapped with him, he made a joke and I told him to back off. But he wouldn't and when I yelled at him again he just snapped." Nate clicks his fingers together to emphasize his point.

"He charged at me, had me against the rocks so I just acted. He was trying to bash my head against them." Nate rubs the back of his head, dried blood meeting with his already bloody fingers. "So, I just acted without thinking. I pushed him off of the pathway, down to the sea below."

There's a silence darker than the night outside at the words that Nate has just said. He stares at anyone who looks his way, making authoritative eye contact. Nate will not be ashamed of his actions.

Ace thinks what he has said over. _He has no reason to lie. We would never be able to find out the truth._ Ace stares around at how the other Careers are taking the news. Emse stares at her feet, Carolyn continues to glare, Weiss chews her lower lip and Cassia stares at the far wall. As if fascinated by it.

The bubble had to break at some point.

"Alright, so Blake turned on one of our own, that makes him a traitor." Ace says the words with more certainty that he feels. Yet the others look more steady with his words. "From now on Blakes out of the alliance. If you see him show no mercy."  
The others nod, an almost triumphant attitude taking up the camp. There is a sliver of hope in the air, hope for a stronger foundation. That is until Carolyn speaks. "So, what do we do with his pet?"

It takes the others a moment to catch on with what Carolyne is saying, then all of their gazes simultaneously land on Esme. She tries to shrink into herself. Ace prepares himself to peek on her behalf, unsure of what he is going to say he opens his mouth. But then Weiss speaks before him. "She's proved herself to us. As far as I'm concerned she's a Career. Weiss says the words so nonchalantly, but they have a clear message. One just shown with Blake.

The others nod in agreement and it is settled.

The tension seems to ebb out of the camp, replaced by a weariness that is hard to pinpoint. Blakes betrayal marks a turning point. For Ace, it marks the true Games beginning. Ones of lies and backstabbing and heartbreak. For others, it marks opportunities.

 **Oliver Apollo, 17, District 5.**

Light turns to dark which turns to light again. It's almost meaningless, distorted through the rushing water as Ollie looks out at the rest of the arena. He has not slept, bags only getting more pronounced underneath his eyes. They look darker than brises now.

His mind seems to have wandered off. It drifts halfway between Ollie's body and halfway to where Kalista was when she met again with Bonnie. Her body still lies in Ollie's lap. He can't bring himself to move her. He has been stroking her hair the whole night, though he no longer connects the movements to his body. It is an automatic movement, he may as well be a robot.

He closes his eyes, it's painful. But it's just as painful to keep them open.

His mind drifts in a half-conscious state, the pounding rain outside sounds like the train tracks outside of his home. Home. The place he lived was not his home. It was his work, one that kept him overnight.

His real family disowned him when he started his work. Only his brother remaining. His brother that stayed his whole goodbyes, that let Ollie cry on his shoulder the morning of the reapings. He pictures his brother now. Taller, with a straighter nose and his father's eyes.

He tries not to think about Dwayne, but the harder he tries not to the more the boys face appears inside of his mind. _You die, I die too._ Ollie never asked for any of this, it was between the arena and a box of pills meant for headaches. In the arena, he has a chance, a chance to make it better for everyone. _Why couldn't Dwayne accept that?_

Ollie opens his eyes again when the image of Dwayne burned into his eyelids becomes too much. Staring back at Kalista's face the realization comes to him like an electric shock. You never have a chance in the arena, it's not built for anyone other than the Capitol. It's not even about payment for the rebellion, it's about control. It's a tool used for fear. To keep them all in line.

Ollie feels his blood burn hotter than ever before inside of his veins.

His mind may be alert but his body moves at a sluggish pace. He needs to do something. Something. He is not sure what that means. But his body seems to burn with the desire to move. It's like his blood has been replaced with boiling water. He gets up, partially tripping over Kalista's body his hand becomes tangled with some of her hair and he rips it out of her body. Ollie barely notices.

Staring around the cave starting to fill with morning light he looks for an escape, a way to expel all of the rage that is coursing through him. The world seems to distort, shifting and too bright. Ollie pays no attention to what his body is telling him. That he needs rest. That he needs water. Instead, he makes his way toward the far wall of the cave.

He pushes his hand against its mossy exterior, feeling damp rock beyond it. He presses his hand in further, the moss springs inward. He laughs, the movement should have been expected. Yet it wasn't. Ollie presses his hand against the moss again. It springs again. He laughs.

It's not a humorous laugh. It's a bubble of raw human emotion.

Ollie continues to press his palms against the moss. His legs spasm beneath him, trying to dispel the boiling hot energy that is pressing into his chest. He tries to press the moss in farther, but its resistance springs it back up. Ollie tries again, achieving the same result. He bites his bottom lip, narrowing his eyes he attempts to press the moss in.

It doesn't work. The moss springs back. Ollie cries out in anger. The noise startles his ears and he jumps. His mind is almost detached from his body, no longer recognizing his movements or actions as his own. Ollie stares back at the rocks, blood dripping down his chin from where he has opened the cuts again on the bottom of his lips. The cuts that came from when he fell on Kalista. When he killed her.

 _I killed her._ The thought sets Ollies body ablaze again, only this time it is liquid fire. Moving forward he pounds his fists against the moss, trying to press it against the rock he tries harder and harder. Needing to do something, to do anything to get these thoughts out of his head. They seem to suffocate him. They do suffocate him.

Ollie is yelling though he does not notice it, he does not notice the blood that starts to form on his fists either with the repeated battering. Or the hot tears the fall down his dehydrated cheeks. He notices nothing. The need for _something_ consumes him completely.

Ollie yells louder, his voice bouncing off of the cave and burning back at him with a new subconscious fury. He continues to yell, resting his hands on the moss he keeps them there until he can yell no longer. His voice cutting off.

He deflates with his voice. His body seems to collapse he falls down, his legs hitting the smooth ground of the cave. His legs are crossed and his chest straight. Staring back upward he notices that the moss has turned from green to red where he hit himself against it again and again. He does not recognize the pain in his hands as his own.

He stays this way as his eyes close once again. His head hitting the ground as his body falls into unconsciousness.

The impact does not wake him.

 **Esme Layton, 17, District 6.**

Despite the pouring of the rain, Esme breaks from the cover of the cornucopia. Marching into the downpour she tucks her head underneath the hood of the jacket that was provided to her at the start of the Games. _Four days ago. Outlived eight._

These Games have been going at a much slower pace then Esme expected. She never expected to last this long trapped in the suffocation of not being a Career. But now it's like the best thing possible has happened. It's almost too good to be true.

No cannons have fired so she doesn't know if Blake is dead or alive. But whatever he is he's gone. That sends a relief stronger the rain to course through her body. But the relief is short-lived, fear has quickly replaced it in her bloodstream.

Now Blake had gone Carolyn is ready to turn on her. Esme is not that surprised, yet it is still a stark reminder at the protection she has lost. She can't make herself regret it though, not with any part of her.

Esme finds an outcrop created in the rugged terrain. Near the cornucopia, the spiked ground creates a hill and underneath it, there is a slight indent. It happens to be the same hill that Flint Fraser tripped on during the bloodbath, but Esme did not see that so this particular outcrop has no significance to her. It's just somewhere that can shelter her from the worst of the rain.

She hugs her knees to her chest. She's not sure why she is so sad. But grief seems to ebb into her body. _Eight dead._ She can't name most of them, names already forgotten and faces making their way out of her mind. If she makes it to becoming Victor she will have to watch all of the deaths in a recap in front of the entirety of Panem. She will have to know their names. Their faces. Their last moments. _I will probably be one of them._

Esme watches at the rain falls in sheets in front of her eyes. Unfocusing them the world becomes a blur. She could be back at home at this moment. Not that she was particularly good in her old life. She thinks back to all those that she and her friends had sold morphing too. Hell, even the female mentor of their District was a buyer. _I sold to her the night before the Games._

Maybe the Games are just a cruel twist of faith. The ultimate karma. Esme would not be too surprised after all. Maybe there was a reason she did not fall off of the crane the night before the Games, maybe it was a worse fate. She stares at the palms of her hands, imagining the blood that now stains them. _That girl's death was my life._ What a cruel twist of faith.

It startles Esme when another figure appears before her. "There you are," the figure mutters. Grabbing Esme's collar she pulls the girl to her feet. Esme is too startled to react, she forgot her weapons inside of the cornucopia.

Panic flutters its way into her heart as Esme wonders if it could all be over just like this. But then she realizes who the other girl is as she flicks her hair over her shoulder. A distinctly District One move. Weiss.

"What do you want?" Esme mumbles, not quite getting her bearings. When Weiss drops her collar Esme stumbles backward, barely gaining her balance. Weiss looks at her with distaste. waiting for Esme to get her act together. When Esme has balanced herself, slightly out of breath at the panic Weiss opens her mouth to speak.

"You owe me," the words take Esme aback. She furrowed her eyebrows as she looks at the other girl. Her long hair is plastered to her face but she's still distinctly beautiful. This beauty is hidden though, hidden by the darkness created by ulterior motives.

Esme's heart picks up in her chest again as Weiss continues to speak. "Carolyn was ready to rip your throat out and I already let you go at the bloodbath. You owe me." The last three words are repeated, their significance pounding on Esme's chest like a gorilla. You owe me.

Esme feels goosebumps starting to break over her skin. She has to bite her lip to try and stop her body from convulsing into shivers. Instead, she shakes slightly. It could almost be missed by the pounding of the rain. But something about the way Weiss starts to smirk makes Esme think that she knows what is going on. It terrifies her.

"Wh-" Esme's voice breaks and she clears her throat. Taking a deep breath she tries again, "what do you want me to do?" Esme finally spits out, her breath catching in the wet and chilly air. Weiss stares expressionless back toward Esme.

"Nothing now," she states. "I'll tell you when." With that Weiss turns on her heels and tiptoes her way back to the cornucopia, forever graceful in the harsh terrain. Esme sways for a moment before her legs give out, she scrapes her back as she falls down the rocky hill and back into her outcrop.

From there she starts to sob.

 **Poppy Northrop, 15, District 11.**

Poppy has been stumbling her way around the arena since yesterday morning. Since the accident. Since she lost her District partner. Without any supplies but the hatchet and the stone she wandered back on the rocky path beneath the water's surface. Wanting- needing to get as far away from Harvests body as possible. From the boy, she is desperately in love with. She still loves him. Death will not break that bond. Not now, not ever.

 _I couldn't save him._ Despite all the training that Poppy did at medical stations before the Games and despite getting a seven. She could not save him. The only one she really cared for. The only one it really mattered. She refuses to let any more tears fall from her eyes. Harvest would not want that. Harvest wanted her to win.

Instead, a dull ache has set itself inside of Poppy's stomach. It's worse than any stomach cramp Poppy has felt before. It's worse than any pain she has ever felt before. Even when Harvest accidentally pushed her over into a bush full of thorns. Or when she hit a hammer against her thumb at full force. Or when her mother ignored her when onstage. It's worse than all of them combined. _It's a ten. An unimaginable ten.  
_  
Yet somehow Poppy still continues to function. She's been wading in a rocky area running parallel to the shore with the trees on it. It looks to be a rather large section of the arena, but Poppy can't quite make herself enter the shelter of the trees. The water still connects her to the pebble beach where Harvest's body lies. If she leaves it she will break that connection forever. She is not ready for that quite yet.

She's so lost in her own thoughts that she almost doesn't notice the abnormally shaped rock in her path. It's not the soft noises it makes or the pale color of it that makes Poppy take notice. It's the way the water turns from clear to red beneath her feet. For a moment she believes that she is imagining the chance, caught up in her grief. But when she gets some on her finger and smells the distinct metallic and deep smell of blood it shoots a wave like an electric shock through her body.

She looks up and finally notices the body that lies in front of her. The rain makes it difficult to see, but the figure lies with their arms wrapped around some kind of driftwood. It must have kept them afloat. She takes a couple of steps closer, suspicion creeping through her veins. _What if the Tribute is just pretending to be injured?_

But when she moves closer she sees an extremely injured Tribute. Blood seeps from their hands and beneath their shirt into the water and their face is bruised and battered. It's almost impossible to tell who it is. That is until Poppy sees the long blond hair.

She leaps back like she just burned her hand on the oven as she stares at the broken body of the boy from District Four. _Who did this to you?_ She wonders, then paranoia creeps into her mind. _What if they are still here? What if the Careers are still looking?_ Poppy ducks down, looking wildly around she waits for a threat. But none come.

In fact, it is almost the complete opposite that happens. Caught on the wind Poppy looks overhead to see a silver parachute floating toward her. Staring up with eyes wide in wonder the largest box she has ever seen inside of a Games is attached to it. _Surely I don't have that many sponsors? What could they be sending me that they didn't want to when I was Harvest?  
_  
Poppy has to splash forward in the waves, reaching out her arms she is surprised by how heavy the box is. It causes her to fall forward in the water, her arms grazing barnacles on the rocks below when its weight lands in her arms. She pushes her head out of the water, salt starting to stream into her eyes.

She pulls the box to the shore, only a few meters away she opens the lid.

Medical supplies.

She was gifted medical supplies.

Poppy is confused for a moment, she is not that injured from the mutt. It was- it was Harvest that it seemed to target the most. Apart from a few scrapes, she is relatively unharmed, what's inside of this box is for the highest caliber of injuries. So precious she was only able to try a couple of them at the medical station. The trainer not bothering to teach her with the others because of how unlikely it would be that she would come across them inside of the arena.

But then the realization dawns on her. The supplies aren't for her. They are for the boy from District Four. Poppy has a choice that she needs to make. Does she take the supplies and run? Or does she help the boy from Four? _I couldn't save Harvest._ It's already been made for her.

 **Caroline Hollyhock, 17, District 5.**

Blood.

She thought that her mind was muddled. That the rain was clouding her vision and judgment. That she would never find a safe place to escape from it. But finding somewhere to rest only confirmed her worst nightmare.

It's blood.

There's not much, sure. But it's impossibly more than no big deal.

* * *

 **Authors note: Holy heck I'm sorry it took me so long to put this chapter out. I know it's not perfect but I really just wanted to get something out so I apologize in advance for the mistakes that are probably inside of it.**

 **Thank you like always for reading. What did you think of this chapter?**

 **(If you've gotten this far leave me a prediction for what the Tributes not mentioned have been up to).**

 **May the odds be ever in your favor,**

 **And,**

 **Thank you for your sacrifice.**

* * *

 **Sponsoring Information:**

Sponsoring is now open to your Tributes, or any Tributes that you would like to sponsor.

To Sponsor please stay active on the story and then PM me following this form;

Who would you like to Sponsor?

What would you like to Sponsor them?

Why do they deserve the item?

How could they use it to win?

What has been your favorite moment so far inside of the story?

As the Games ramp up I would like an increased level of detail to your answers :)

* * *

 **The fallen:**

 **Day One:**

 **24th: Flint Fraser, 13, District 12. Killed by Blake. Created by iridescenteverdeen** **. Flint became one of my favorite characters and I shed some tears thinking that he had to go. He was just too young and too scrawny. His persistence optimism followed him to the end and I'll miss him.**

 **23rd: Pricilla Winters, 15, District 12. Killed by Carolyn. Created by Mewkitcat** **. Pricilla fought to the end, her fear leading her to turn on those she probably could have trusted. Her family will miss her deeply, its almost fitting that she followed her District Partner out.**

 **22nd: Weft Loomis, 15, District 8. Killed by Ace. Created by** **destiny's sweet melody. Weft has a hard life, he had a solid plan but unfortunately was carried away by talk of alliances and those he trusted. His interview will be remembered as one of the best and his quirky sarcasm will be missed. He's with his mother and sister now.**

 **21st: Cole Rockweld, 15, District 9. Killed by Cassia. Created by The-Moth-God. Cole was a Tribute I think many expected to go far inside the Games. He almost did, but the true worth of alliances was shown at his expense. Cole did not go easily and he will leave his mark in the Games with the injuries he inflicted on Ace. He died fighting, Barrick can be proud of that.**

 **20th: Trafalgar Zaun, 15, District 10. Killed by Weiss. Created by 66samvr. Trav, they were different from any other Tribute I have seen before. They were so interesting to write and almost made it away. They can find solace in the friend they made in Eva, the true acceptance of their identity she had. But it is a bittersweet ending.**

 **19th: Eva Brath, 14, District 10. Killed by Esme. Created by Team Shadow. Eva was never designed to win these Games and I think most people saw that. I added a lot of backstory to this Tribute myself and she will always have a special spot. She can be with her sisters and father now, the hope that her youngest sister is not reaped will live on with the Capitol. That's all she ever wanted.**

 **18th: Violet Mercury, 14, District 8. Killed by Blake. Created by Booklovin'03. Violet, like Eva was never meant to win these Games. I think she knew that too. I think she would be okay with that, she wasn't sure if she wanted to win. Jasper will surely mourn her and her death will affect the District. It just wasn't meant to be.**

 **17th: Harvest Kohl, 15, District 11. Killed by a mutt. Created by curiousclove. Harvest was a special Tribute, so pure at heart and trying to be positive he just wanted to protect his crush. He sacrificed himself for her, even if he did not realize it at the moment and Poppy will surely be devastated. His memory will live on, and the courageous actions that he left. I think he would be happy, Poppy told him how she felt and they we're able to share a moment. I'll miss writing you Harvest, you and Poppy we're so cute together.**

 **16th: Kalista Stone, 17, District 9. Killed by Oliver. Created by The Girl With The Knives. Kalista's death was so hard for me to write, the reason for me balling my eyes out late at night. Shes a Tribute I got attached to but never really managed to spread that attraction. Her death is going to devastate Oliver and impact his Games forward. She could have made it so much further. Never getting to show off all of the skill and potential the Gamemakers saw in her. She's a Tribute I will miss deeply.**


	43. Mortality (GAMES - NIGHT 4)

**Nirvana Ivanov, 18, District 7.**

"Took you long enough," Nirvana growls at Willow. The palms of her hands are covered with lean cuts from climbing up and back down the cliff. Crimson running through her fingers in the fading light of day. But Nirvana pays no attention to her injuries, his boot still stuck in the hole he has had a burning need to take a piss for what feels like an eternity.

Willow looks annoyed for a moment but Nirvana pays no attention. Trying to push his boot back out of the hole. It only scrapes his ankle on the rough stone. It has become quite grazed from the almost complete day that he has been stuck here. Willow took a long time climbing back off of the cliff to get back to him. The rock face is a lot easier to climb up than down for whatever reason. _Fucking Gamemakers._ Nirvana curses the face of the newest Victor- Bastion Steele. _Fucking traitor._

Willow looks alarmed down to where Nirvana's foot scrapes against the side of the hole. Crimson has started dribbling down his ankle from the reopened cuts just above the top of his boots. She chews on the edge of her lip, trying to figure out how to get him out. Nirvana scowls up at her, annoyance dripping from his brows.

Reaching across from him Nirvana watches her pick up the large knife that was embedded inside of his leg. His pants are damp from the blood that has leaked out from beneath his failing stitches. They are managing to keep enough in though, enough to keep him alive.

Willow then brings the knife down, forcing it next to Nirvana's foot. "Shit!" He yells out, loud enough for his voice to carry on the wind. His heartbeat accelerates rapidly in his chest. "You could have warned me you were going to do that," his heart is still accelerated as Willow brings the knife down again. This time it causes some of the stone next to Nirvana's boot to chip. One of the shards ricochets and hits Nirvana in the chest.

"Watch it!" He yells at Willow, his mood souring even further. Willow pays him little attention, biting her lip harder and harder Nirvana sees a crimson streak falling from her lip and down her neck. _Serves you right._

By the time the stone has been chipped enough for Nirvana to force his foot free, Willow has sweat soaking her chest. Nirvana pulls his foot out of the gap, hissing with pain as his ankle scrapes against the further jagged rock for a final time. His mood has turned with the weather and rain pelts the two of them. Willow welcomes it with open arms, it causes Nirvana to boil with rage.

He turns around, getting shakily to his feet he drops his pants and moans as he relieves his bladder. "A little warning next time," Willow yells over to him. Her voice showing how uncomfortable she is.

"You've seen it a lot closer," Nirvana replies cockily back. He does not need to turn his head, he knows that blush will of creeped up onto Willows' cheeks. Shaking himself off he turns back toward Willow. She is staring at the ground, a confused expression on her face.

"What's up, _darling_?" Nirvana's voice is dripping with sarcasm.

Willow just shakes her head, her fingers twitch. "Let's fix your stitches."

 **Nathaniel Mattingly 18, District 2.**

The cornucopia has been invaded with a thick warmness that comes from so many bodies being jammed together. Nate sits upward, his back propped against the wall and a blanket wrapped around his chest. Next, to him, Cassia sits, her knee touching his leg.

Ace and Esme sit next to each other slightly further down and Weiss and Carolyn sit at opposite ends. There has been a little conversation from any of them. That is until Nate decides to break the silence. "We should do something," he tells the rest of the group. Their confused faces look up to his.

"Like what?" Esme's voice breaks the dull silence. Nate bounces his leg up and down, wanting to get rid of nervous energy. The others seemed to buy his story well enough, he is playing up his injuries to try and back it up. Not that he minds much, he has Cassia worriedly watching over him.

"I don't care what. Just something." Nate replies, hoping one of the others will come up with an idea. In truth, he has no idea what he _wants_ to do. But with the bucketing of the rain outside of the cornucopia and the whipping of the wind on the plastic sheets that they have covering the entryway Nate feels like he can't think.

"We could play truth or dare," Ace suggests. The idea is so absurd in Nates mind that the boy laughs a booming laugh. Remembering to wince afterward. He notices that Cassia gives him a worried glance which makes him have to hide a smile. The hint of it reminds on his lips, he thinks that she notices.

"I'm down," Esme states. Her leg has been bouncing up and down like Nates since she came in from the weather. Dripping wet she has barely talked since. Ace shoots her a grateful look like he is already regretting what he said.

Cassia throws a sideways glance at Nate, her eyebrows raised. "I'm in," Nate replies to Cassia more than anyone else. She smiles at him and he smiles back.

Weiss clears her throat from below. She sits on the floor. "I guess I'm in too then," she says reluctantly. Nate looks over and Carolyn is the only one that seems upset by the decision. In truth, restless energy radiates from all of the Careers. It's too dangerous to go out in such a downpour, not when you can't see a meter in front of your face. Yet they all desperately want to.

"Alright. I'll start," Ace says. "Nate truth or dare."

Nate laughs, shifting slightly in his seat. "Truth," Nate replies, wiggling his eyebrows at Ace. If he's pretending to be injured then he would not want to choose dares. Ace takes a moment to think, running one of his hands through his hair and messing it up. Outside, thunder booms.

"What would make you turn on one of us?"

The group stiffens at Aces words. _Too_ _soon_. Nate thinks. Despite himself, Nate feels a smile creep over the corner of his mouth. There's some humor in the situation. The prior circumstances that lead to them being a member less. "Waste of a question," Nate deadpans back. "I'd turn on any one of you that turned on me first."

There's a somber silence that greets Nates words. But none of them are particularly upset. The sponsors are probably the only ones that really miss Blake. _I hope he's out there rotting._ The thoughts enter his mind as different ones leave his lips. "Esme. Truth or dare?"

The girl looks startled, her head shooting up. She stares into Nates eyes for a moment. He meets her cooly. His gaze is not malicious, but it shows no familiarity. "Dare," she replies.

Nates face erupts into a smile. "Kiss Ace." Weiss bursts into laughter from where she lies across blankets and Esme's cheeks go red. Aces cheeks go splotchy a moment later and he rubs the back of his neck. Nate smirks as he watches the pair of them.

"Really?" Esme asks, getting her blush under control now the surprise is gone.

"Really," Nate replies.

Esme moves quickly, turning her head to the side she kisses Ace on the cheek. He is so startled he does not notice what is happening until she moves away again. He goes back to scratching his neck. Esme looks back to Nate, winking at him.

Nate barely pays the drama any attention, he is focused on the way Cassias knee has moved further onto his leg. He smiles at Esme when she winks at him, not minding that she did not complete the dare that was intended.

"Weiss, truth or dare?" Esme continues the Game while Nates mind wanders. He remembers the night before the Games. How _broken_ she seemed. How she has shown none of that yet. Then again, they have not been reunited for long.

Nate misses when Weiss replies and only tunes in again when Esme tells her to "make out with Carolyn." Nate looks over, Esme cannot be serious. The grin on her face shows that she is most definitely serious.

"Go shove that idea right up y-," Carolyn's voice is low as ice.

Weiss interjects overtop of her. "You're insane if you think I'm doing that," The two girls glare at each other from across the cornucopia, as if the dare is each other's fault instead of Esmes. Their frosty attitudes have been noticed by the rest of the group, _I wasn't going to say anything_. Nate muses, but he is mildly entertained that Esme has.

"You heard the dare. We all did ours," Ace backs up Esme. Nate looks over at him, amused. It seems as if the pair of them are always ready to back each other up. Right now that means winding the girls up as much as possible. By the red expressions on each of their faces, it has worked.

Weiss is still as a statue yet Carolyn has reacted the opposite. She seems to vibrate with tension, almost as if she his shivering. But it's not from the cold that seeps from the other side of the tarps, but from the rage that the dare has created. "Go on, it's just a dare." Nates voice is not the first to speak up, but it certainly has the most authority behind it.

Both of the girls freeze for a moment before one of them gets to their feet. In a flash she is standing, a weapon in her hand and a backpack slung over her back. "You know what, fuck this." She announces. "I don't need any of your bullshit anymore."

With that, she rips down one of the tarps. Esme yelps as frigid rain hit her. Ace rushes up, calling back for the figure his voice is lost in the rain. After a few more moments he picks up the tarp and slings it over the thick rope he put up earlier to support it.

Drenched he looks back at the others.

"Looks like we are down to five," Nate says. His voice edged in false confidence.

Outside, a cannon booms.

 **Callum Lennon, 18, District 3.**

Callum's head shoots up, it hits jarringly against something hard and he rolls over. Opening his eyes all he sees is pitch black. Panicking he shoots up, hitting his head again on something it causes pain to burst from beneath his eyelids.

He rubs his head absentmindedly as he hears a gasp beside him. "Are you okay?" Talia asks, her voice laced with fear. Callum nods his head before yet again realizing that Talia cannot see him. It seems that the two of them cannot get away from the dark.

His memory starts to come back to his groggy mind. The two of them searched for somewhere to sleep, finding a rocky terrain some rocks made little shelters. They decided to sleep inside of one, this particular one sloped down slightly and the rocks are close enough together at the top to create an almost waterproof hold.

The two of them are splashed occasionally from the leaky roof. But it keeps them warm enough and it is the safest place they have found themselves in since the Games began. _You have to reply to Talia_. Callum takes a few moments too long to remember that in his confusion.

"Fine," he replies dumbly. In truth, his head hurts quite a lot and he can already feel a couple of lumps forming beneath his hair. Which has turned rough and straw-like. He is sure that he and Talia do not smell any good, even after wandering around in the rain it has only done so much to remove the stink of the caves.

"You hit your head pretty hard. I heard the _crack_." Talia says tactlessly as if trying to hone in the point that Callum's head should hurt a lot. He bites the inside of his mouth, counting to five as the pain gets stronger.

"I'm fine," Callum replies again. Internally, he curses whatever woke him so suddenly. But he does not want to voice it to Talia, she may not know what caused the noise. _I don't want to worry her about anything_ , Callum thinks to himself. It could not be thunder that woke him. Or an animal moving outside. In fact, he thinks that he can hear something scuffling about right now.

"Who do you think it was?" Talia asks, her voice entering the blackness of the shelter.

"Who do I think what was?" Callum asks back. He thinks that he could have heard her wrong in his muddled mind. Surely he did. The sentence that he thinks she said makes no sense. There is no one else near them.

"Who's canon do you think it was?" Talia explains, her voice dropping to barely a whisper.

Callum feels his heart sink. "I don't know," he stumbles out. Grabbing Talia's body he pulls her closer to himself. He can feel the beating of her accelerated heart against his body and he has to try and fight his into a steady pace. _Showing your own nerves won't help Talia. Being strong will._

The rustling sounds from outside get louder.

 **Poppy Northrop, 15, District 11.**

Poppy looks down at the bloody knife in her hands. The blood runs from its blade, small and silver down the palms of her pale hands and to the crook of her elbow. She watches as the raindrops that hit her arm turn pink before the mixture falls toward the ground.

 _I tried to help him._ Her brain screams the words at her as she stumbles backward. Trying to get away from the life that now drains from the figure in front of her. _I tried to help him._ Inside her mind, she replays the recent events.

Trying to help the boy. The way his body started to sizure. The groans he was making. The complete and utter agony. The way she picked up the knife. Her shaking hands. How easy it was to press the blade into his neck. The blood that seeped. The cannon that boomed. The way she hasn't been able to stop shaking.

 _I couldn't save him. I couldn't save Harvest._ The truth is hot and chokes Poppy like hot blood. Hysterical laughter bubbles from her lips but can't quite escape. It comes out as a high pitched whistle that cuts further than the eye can see. Poppy does not register that the noise is coming from herself. That is until another voice joins in.

 _Poppy, you can't break down. You have to keep going._

Poppy freezes. She would recognize that voice beyond the grave. "Harvest?" She whispers out loud, desperately wanting to hear what he has to say. She stares around, she saw his face in the night sky and knows he has gone. But she clings on to any form of hope she could have. Maybe they all just made the worst mistake. _Maybe Harvest is fine. Maybe he fixed himself up._

 _It's me._

The voice seems to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at all. Poppy looks around desperately, straining her eyes in the dark and rain. She knows that he is out there somewhere. She just needs to see him. _To show them all that they made a mistake. To show them that her Harvest is fine._

 _You won't be able to see me._

The voice crushes Poppy's heart. She falls forward, her knees hitting a root the impact jars itself up her body. She barely notices it, straining to hear his voice against the wind. She _needs_ to hear it. She needs him more than ever.

 _You need to keep going, Poppy. I know its hard, but you will be okay. You need to get out of here. You're unprotected._

The voice whispers things that would be second nature to Poppy in a better mental state. She shudders violently. Tears threatening her vision she knows that she has to be strong. She has to be strong because he is with her now. Harvest will protect her now like he always has.

Poppy gets up slowly, her limbs already stiffened. Walking back to where the now lifeless body lays her boots trample over mud and blood alike. She is glad that she cannot see what is underneath her due to the darkness.

"Now what?" She asks out loud.

 _Grab that torch. Then the backpack. Now stuff it with as many supplies as you can. You need to get out of here. You need to hope that no one can see you._

 **Talia Lancaster, 15, District 3.**

"Do you hear that?" Talia asks into the not so silent night. Outside, she can hear a rustling, it is only getting louder. She feels Callum shift beside her, his body moving protective upward. Yet he is careful, Talia knows that he hurt his head when he smashed it against the rocks.

Talia listens intently to the silence. It's a shuffling sound, yet there is some snuffling mixed in. It's hard for Talia to listen to, it's certainly not natural. Something about the movements is too...too… Talia does not have the words to describe how this thing moves. But she can hear, becoming more and more terrified as time goes on.

Nex to her, Callum puts his arm down. Picking up the large metal spear that they were sponsored he points it towards the rock opening. Talai starts to shake besides herself, her body unable to contain the fear that is going through her.

Outside, a sudden roar of thunder causes Talia to jump. Her heart leaps as Callum's spear clatters to the ground, just out of his reach due to her sudden movement. Talia squeezes her eyes closed a moment before opening them again. Calum's hand stretches out before her, groping he tries to grasp the spear.

Then lightning strikes.

Talia can hear its crash as it collides with the ground nearby. It is followed by another and another and soon the world is light up by strikes lasting a couple of seconds at a time. Talia looks up to see her own fear mirrored in Calum's eyes before he yells out at something behind her.

Talia looks back toward the opening of the rocks and waits for another lightning strike to flash. When it does her blood turns to ice. Two beady white eyes stare at her, fangs bared on a mutt that looks like a large fox. Except for its jet black and has fangs that protrude over its bottom lips. Talia can't help but scream when she sees it.

The creature stares directly at her, starting to growl a low growl it points its tail straight out behind itself. Talia's blood pumps faster and faster inside of her chest, she cannot hear anything but the pounding of her heart. She feels Callum tense up beside her, frozen in shock like her Talia can't make herself do anything but stare.

Then lightning hits a tree that can just be seen from the opening of the rocks. Despite the rain, it erupts into a bright blue flame, lighting up the area. Talia screams again and the mutt looks over to the left. Gazing further than the rocks. Talia thinks she has caused it but cannot make herself scream again. Instead, she stares wide-eyed in terror.

The mutt suddenly rushes to the left. Talia has no time to worry about what has happened because suddenly Callum is pulling on her sleeve. "We need to run!" He yells at Talia. She nods dumbly as Callum picks up the spear. The two of them rush to the rock entrance.

Staring out they see that the blue flames have spread to a few of the nearby trees and rain does not seem to be affecting them at all. If anything, they are burning stronger underneath the torrent. Talia's hair immediately sticks to her head as she feels Callum wrap an arm around her back.

Talia looks around wildly, trying to pinpoint where the mutt has run off to. She feels Callum's grip tighten on her back and _knows_ that he has spotted it. But its black coat blends into the dark woods even with the flames emitted from the frequent lightning strikes and the flaming trees. Talia wonders if she will even be able to spot it.

Then she hears the scream.

It comes from the direction that the mutt ran off to. Looking over Talia can see someone thrashing about on the ground. A dark liquid coats their pants and the mutt stands slightly back, its tongue lolling over its large fangs it charges forward. Talia screams yet again when she sees the mutt tear flesh off of the leg of the tribute. It rushes forward, pinching skin beneath its teeth then ripping it away as it rushes off.

The figure on the floor streams again. It's a feminine scream, full of pain and bewilderment. _I bet she doesn't even realize what is happening._ Talia thinks, her heart constricting inside of her chest she tries to figure out who the Tribute could be.

"Callum, you need to do something," Talia pleads. Pulling on his wrist that does not hold the spear she has tears rolling down her cheeks. She hears the Tribute scream again and can only assume that the mutt has ripped off another chunk of flesh. Taia can't make herself look back at the Tribute. But she can't make herself move either. Callum feels frozen next to her.

"Please, help them," Talia begs. She is no longer worried about prioritizing her own safety. All she can see in front of her is someone else in pain. Someone being tortured by the Capitol. _They can't leave the Tribute._ "Please," she whispers. That seems to break Callum out of his trance.

Digging into the large pack that they found at the bloodbath what seems so long ago he brings out the canteen that the boy. Jerry. Gave to them. Taking a deep breath he lobs it as hard as he can toward the mutt. It hits it square on the back. The mutt turns, hissing it turns its back to the bleeding Tribute on the ground and its attention to Talia and Callum.

"Run!" Callum screams at Talia, grabbing her hand in his the two of them run as fast as they can forward. Toward the blue flames caused by the lightning. _Animals are afraid of fire._ Is the only plan that Talia can think of in her muffled state. Lightning continues to hit the ground around them, in patterns too man made to be random.

Talia's palm slips from Callums from the sweat of their bodies and he starts to run faster than her. In his blind panic, he does not notice that he has dropped her palm. Talia longs to call out to him but she's struggling to pull enough air into her lungs to keep up the pace. She knows that she won't be able to keep it up and scream at Callum at the same time so she watches as he gets further and further away from her.

Then Talia feels something that causes blind terror. She feels hot breath on her ankles and the hot lick of a lolling tongue. She has no breath left to scream when the mutt grabs her ankle in its mouth. The pain causes black spots to dot Talia's vision as her forward momentum causes her to fall forward. The mutt jumps out of the way as Talia crashes into the forest floor, pain blooming from her ankle.

The mutt wastes no time, turning back it rips at her other ankle. "Calum!" Talia screams out, her voice louder than she has ever projected it before. She sees Callum turn, surprise lighting up her features at the fact she is not next to him. Then the mutt sinks its teeth back into her again. She feels its jaws sink deep into her thigh. Almost immediately blood starts to gush from underneath Talias pants.

The mutt moves, blocking Callum from her vision it seems to taunt Talia as it takes a step toward her face. Talia screams as the mutt sinks its teeth into her right eye. There's an almost sucking feeling, then Talia cannot open her eye. She stares at the mutt from her left eye, where its second half should be is only black. She can feel blood falling down her face. "Please," she begs to the mutt, her voice barely a whisper.

But the mutt leans in again, Talia attempts to close her eye as she knows what's coming and just as the mutt sinks its jaws around her left eye she feels an impact. It causes the jaws of the mutt to snap shut and Talia is plunged into blackness. Desperately she tries to open eyes that are no longer there.

Screaming out she tries to grasp for anything. Anyone. She is lost in a sea of darkness. Is this what death feels like? Oh, she was so wrong before. The darkness of the caves was nothing like this. Nothing like the impossibility of never seeing again. She feels the fur of the mutt beneath her and rips at it, but she's not strong enough to get any of its tufts out. Talia feels blood stream down her vision and smells salt. _Can I still cry?_ She wonders. The saltiness seems to come directly from her nose.

"Talia," she hears Callum cry out and stretches her arms, trying to feel for him in the darkness. She tries to picture his face, but in her panic cannot draw it to memory. This only causes her heart to beat faster and her breath to become quicker. Talia did not know your heart could beat this fast. I _t's unnatural. I'm unnatural._

"Talia I'm so sorry. I thought you were with me," Talia can tell that Callum is crying from the way that his voice is cracking. She can barely think straight, her mind playing tricks bright white lights pierce through the darkness of her vision. Almost blinding her she just wants it to stop. _She wants everything to stop._

A wave of nausea wracks Talia's body and she remembers where the mutts jaws pierce her thigh. She knows that it did something that they cannot save. Talia is almost glad. "Callum," she spits out, trying to get the boy to move closer to her.

"Cal-."

 **Willow Ashes, 16, District 7.**

Willow sits on the water's edge, the tide has changed so that the Tributes can now access the water from their beach. Willow sits, her stomach growling as she attempts to find fish inside of the water. It may be nighttime, but the rain has eased off in this particular section of the arena. She can hear the wind and rain beating above the mountains, but they seem to have found a spot away from it. Willow is grateful, she needs a bit of a break.

Staring down at the water she frowns. She has seen no fish for all of the time she has been trying to catch one. While it is night time a bright moonlight illuminates this section of the arena as well. It's almost as bright as day. Willow finds it foreboding, like something is about to kick off and the Gamemakers want a good vision for it.

Willow hears someone move behind her before she hears Nirvana plop down beside her. He dangles his feet inside of the water, causing ripples in the waves. Willow shoots him a dirty look. He will have scared off anything even mildly close. For all Willow knows there could have been a fish just out of her vision. Now it's gone.

"Whats the dirty look in aid of princess? Last I checked we were both in this together." Nirvanas ever entertaining commentary graces Willows' ears. She has to curl her fists into balls, staring down at the water once again she strains her eyes to see something that is nonexistent. She knows deep down that nothing will appear. But she refuses to believe it. If nothing appears they will have to move places. Willow has found some stability here.

Nirvana continues to press. "What? I'm sorry about the pissing thing from earlier. I wouldn't have done it if I thought you were going to turn into such a prude after sex." His voice drones on, like an inherent itch to Willows skull. Every minute she is finding it harder and harder to deal with the boy.

"I was wondering if you wanted to go for round two. To loosen up a little bit you know? God knows we need some entertainment." That really does it. Willows' face drops. Done with the blushing and the embarrassment Willow stares this boy down.

"In the morning I'm fucking leaving." Willows voice cracks. Picking up his incessant swearing habit Willow things that if she gets one opportunity to sweat this should be the one.

Nirvana looks at her confused. "What?" He laughs.

"I'm done with this. With us. I'll keep watch tonight but then I'm done. We get to go our separate ways." Willows' voice sounds stronger than she feels.

Nirvana's face falls for a moment but then jumps back up. Its so fast Willow wonders if she imagined his face dropping in the first place. "Whatever," Nirvana replies. Getting up he makes sure to splash Willow when he shakes off his feet. She bites her tongue to keep silent.

"I'm going to get some sleep then." Nirvana storms off and Willow lets out a breath she did not know that she was holding. Despite everything, she is feeling the most optimistic that she has since the Games began.

Like removing a tick.

It hurts for a moment, maybe there's a bit of a wound that won't heal for a while. But eventually it will and the animal will be a lot healthier and happier afterward. Willow knows that her alliance with Nirvana is not going to be what wins her the Games. In fact, she has probably stayed a little too long. Helped him a little too much. But that's what District partners do. That's what she does with the first boy shes truly fell for.

She takes a deep breath, an unexpected lump forming inside of her throat. _Only one can survive these Games._ Willow has always refused to forget that.

 **Jerry Kapper, 15, District 6.**

Screaming wakes Jerry up. Inside of his grove, the rain has become too much to keep out and it collects by his feet. Listening harder he thinks that the screaming is actually far away, but being carried by the wind. For a moment he considers ignoring it, boosting up the Careers radio he quickly flicks through the channels. All of them are silent.

Taking a rueful breath Jerry gets up. Deciding that he will take a look at the situation but most likely not interfere. He is not prepared to risk his life for someone he has never met before. Especially since he already helped out the pair from District Three. Jerry has done his charity of the Games. Now it is time to be strategic.

It only takes Jerry a moment to get his things prepared. He slips on night vision goggles that were sponsored to him and secures a large knife that he stole from the larger alliance when they were still intact to his belt. He took it when Caroline was sleeping up a tree away from the rest of the group. _She never noticed._

He then gets his jacket and wraps it around the radio receiver. A manual with the night vision goggles said that they were waterproof but he cannot risk his receiver being damaged. It is his most powerful weapon at this point of the Games. It is the thing keeping him away from the biggest threat.

Once that is done Jerry takes a deep breath, preparing to get soaked he runs a hand through his blond hair before scurrying out from underneath the underbrush. Almost immediately Jerry is soaked to the bone and his night vision goggles do not seem to be working. They are flashing almost a blinding color every few seconds. Jerry takes them off only to see that it is lightning causing the effect.

He shrugs his shoulders before putting the night vision goggles back in his pack too. Another scream can be heard, this one is higher pitch and fearful instead of painful. _At least two people._ Jerry keeps a mental count, keeping low he walks across the underbrush. After a couple of minutes of quiet a cannon booming causes Jerry to leap out of his skin. Picking up the pace he rushes toward the area, being careful to stay in the shadows.

Then he gets to the spot. Trees are aflame and stand out bright blue against the night. Starring Jerry can see a figure leaning over a mound on the ground almost out of eyesight. He is careful to avoid the figure. Beneath Jerry's feet, the wet ground turns almost sticky, taking a deep breath Jerry looks down. A crimson trail.

 _It must be safe enough to follow if that Tribute can be out,_ Jerry thinks. After a moment's hesitation, Jerry moves a couple of meters to the left. There is thicker underbrush to navigate through but it is harder to see him. He is also not leaving footsteps on the forest floor because of the blood. I cannot be found.

It only takes a minute before he starts to hear a gasping. Out of the range of the flaming trees, Jerry has to rely on the striking of lightning. There is no shortage of it and soon Jerry finds himself in front of a hunched up figure. It's a woman. She lies in the fetal position, blood running from her legs she whimpers out in pain.

It takes Jerry a moment too long to figure out who she is. The buzzed hair. That's what gives it away. Caroline. Jerry feels rage boil inside of him at what this Tribute has inflicted on others. The Tribute who has not even noticed Jerry's' presence because she is locked into her own world of pain and grief.

Jerry feels his hands shake with a rage that he did not know that he possessed. Caroline cries out, biting back down on her lip she draws more blood. Jerry takes a step forward. "I know what you did," he whispers. The woman freezes.

Caroline looks up at Jerry. Fear in her eyes rain drips off of her face. "Please… Please help me," she begs to Jerry. Jerry remains expressionless, a faint smirk creeping up his cheeks. _She wants his help. After everything that has happened._

"I know you turned on Trav. I know you abandoned Kalista and Oliver." Jerry's voice picks up in volume as he stares down at the woman on the ground. She looks up at him, snot dribbling down her cheek. "You're a fucking traitor. Tell me why again I should help you?" Jerry shouts the last words, rage forming for those who cannot express it.

"Please… Help me… Help my baby." Caroline begs, she tries to get to her knees but an unseen pain drags her back down. It seems to tether her to the ground. She crawls over, putting her hands on Jerrys boots. "Please.."

"You don't get to play the sympathy card. Not right now." Jerry replies. Despite his harsh words his voice cracks and hands shake as he goes to get the knife out of his belt. Caroline's eyes widen at what he is doing.

"Please don't." She repeats.

"You don't get to make the rules. People die because of you. My friend died because of you." Jerry finally snaps, thrusting the knife down he aims for Caroline's throat.

But then something unexpected happens. The woman surges upwards, grabbing Jerry's boots she pushes him toward the ground. He flails in the air, his knife cluttering out of his hands he thrusts his palms out to stop himself from falling.

He still hits the ground hard. Looking over he sees his knife a couple of meters away. Caroline spots it at almost the same moment and the two charge toward the blade. Caroline grasps it a moment before Jerry and she pulls it out of the way as Jerry dives. With a grin Caroline swipes the knife, attempting to cut Jerry across his chest.

Jerry surges backward and the knife knicks the air just in front of his shirt. Jerry barely thinks, charging forward he wraps his arms around Caroline's waist and tackles her. She pushes a leg up, kneeing Jerry across his inner thigh the boy groans which gives Caroline the opportunity to get on top of him. Her blood is transferred over Jerry's shirt and pants as she pins his body underneath hers.

Jerry can tell she is struggling from the way her breath pants and the smell of blood has now become palatable. But he knows that he is in real danger. Jerry tries to surge his body upward, but Caroline is still heavy enough to keep him pinned. Caroline smiles down at the boy, wiping his pale hair out of his face she puts a hand on his cheek. Keeping his arm pinned underneath his back.

"Sorry kid," she tells him. "Nothing personal." She brings the knife up, its silver blade gleaming as lightning flashes across the sky. Utter terror flows through Jerry's body as he surges upward, managing to get his arm out from underneath his back he brings his arm up. The knife blade skinks deeply into his arm. He cries out in pain but uses it to his advantage. The adrenaline boost is enough to turn over, getting his body on top of Caroline's he wastes no time.

Now unable to use the knife he grasps for anything to be of use as Caroline claws at his chest with sharp fingernails. Jerry can feel the blood start to flow out of the scratches and makes sure to keep his arm with the blade inside out looking for another object. Not allowing her to pull the knife out and immobilize him that way. Jerry feels disgusted and relief flow through him when his groping hand finds an object.

Bringing it back he holds a medium sized rock. He can't help himself. "This is personal," he tells Caroline as he brings the rock down. She scrapes at his neck as the rock bashes against her skull. The first hit is not enough for him to get her to stop so Jerry repeats the movement. Bringing the rock down again and again against Caroline's skull he stops when the girl stops moving.

Rolling his body off of hers Jerry pants as he tries to get his breath back. He thinks that he can hear a can hear a cannon fire, but everything is muffled compared to his breath in his ears and his beating heart. He lies there, next to the body of the woman that he just killed. The pregnant woman as rain pours down over top of him. Jerry starts to laugh.

After a moment he realizes what he is doing. Fighting through the pain of having a knife embedded into his arm he rushes off, tracing back the direction h came from he wants to get as far away from the other Tributes as possible. He notices as he backtracks. That the figure is still hunched over the lump on the ground. I think its another Tribute.

 **Carolyn Aquana, 17, District 4.**

Carolyn curses her hasty retreat. _I forgot the night vision goggles._ She really could do with some of them at the moment. Tracing the thin path that leads to the other side of the harsh mountains it is the path that Nate pushed Blake off. Carolyn knows this of course, but it is not the reason she is traversing it.

The wind seems to be blocked by the harsh cliff on one side at the current moment and Carolyn rushes as quickly as she can. Only stopping for a moment when a silver parachute is sent her way. It's full of thick rope. Carolyn smiles, it might be needed for what is to come.

She knows that the two from the same District are in an alliance. She has to hope that her hunch is still correct. In her hand, she grips the last trident of the Games. That is pursuing Blakes fell into the ocean with him. God, she hopes that one of those cannons meant his end. _A Tribute no one will miss._

Carolyn takes a deep breath before she exits the pathway, appearing onto a dark almost beach. She thinks almost because instead of sand there are only smooth flat rocks. Looking around the area she spots a figure standing near the edge of the cliff. Sinking lower she is sure that the figure will have seen her. Carolyn's only question is whether they are male or female.

Charging forward Carolyn sees that the frame is certainly too small to be the one who she is looking for. Hesitant to throw her best weapon she grabs a small knife out of her pocket, she throws at the figure who is now looking in her direction. It goes slightly high, hitting the collarbone a high pitched yell is emitted into the air. Carolyn's guess is confirmed, this is not who she is looking for.

In the dark Carolyn misses the knife that is thrown in retaliation in her direction. In truth, she only notices it with the searing pain in her shoulder. It's her left though so she continues onward, picking up another knife she throws it in the girl's direction. This one hits its target. Embedding itself into the skull of the tribute the cannon is almost instantaneous.

Carolyn smiles when she hears it. She is achieving more now than she ever did with the so-called Career pack. As she goes to rip the knife out of her shoulder she hears a faint noise to her left. Just enough to alert her, but muffled so she has no idea what it could be.

She turns too late and only gets a glimpse at the boy she was looking for. What she does get, however, is an immense pain as the handle of the second trident left in the Games hits her in the head. She is unconscious before her head hits the ground.

 **Cassia Slander, 16, District 2.**

"What do you think is going on out there?" Cassia whispers to Nate. She volunteered to take the night watch with Nate and the others are now sleeping. Or pretending to sleep. No one has felt like talking much since Carolyn stormed out. _District four gone just like that._

"Tributes are dying," Nate replies, keeping his voice soft he leans into Casia's ear. He does not want to disturb the sleeping Tributes. Cassia tries to hide the shivers that his proximity causes, but she does not think that she's fooling anyone. Let alone Nate.

The two of them sit in silence, listening to the wind and the rain. Cassa has heard three Cannons so far tonight. She wonders if either belongs to shunned alliance members. She takes a deep breath, "what really happened to you and Blake?" Cassia asks Nate, her voice barely audible above the rain.

He lets out a deep breath and Cassia shivers. He takes it as she is cold and scoops up another blanket, wrapping it around both of their shoulders he lets his hand hang in the gap between the two of them. After a moment's hesitation, Cassia takes it.

"Blake was ready to turn on whoever pissed him off and I was short-tempered too," Nate explains. His voice is not sheepish and has no regret. It is a matter of fact, like a teacher explaining a math equation.

"Then he started making some messed up comments about you and I kind of lost it. I punched him and he retaliated. We were both ready to kick off. It would have happened sooner or later anyway." Nates lips are right next to Cassias ear. No one else can know about this.

"You did that, for me?" Cassia replies. Her mind is spinning, she knew that there would be more to the story but was unprepared for this. _I didn't know if he truly cared or not._

"Yes," Nate simply replies.

Cassia looks over to him. Their warm breaths merging as they leave their lips. Cassia leans over so she is staring directly into Nates blue eyes. He stares back into her green rimmed ones. Its like they are truly looking at each other for the first time.

Then Nate leans forward and their lips meet.

Its like they had been waiting their whole lives for each other at that moment.

* * *

 **Authors note: This one was a roller-coaster. Things I have been planning for awhile have started falling into place which I am very excited about but also nervous. This is the time's characters start to change...**

 **Thank you like always for reading. I'm going to be honest. I really do need reviews and I really like long ones, hearing what you thought of each character's journey or notable moments. Please if you can take a few minutes to do a decent sized review, I read and respond to all of them and they keep me writing.**

 **Let me know what you thought of this chapter. What surprised you? What are you sad about? What are you glad about? Please let me know :)**

 **May the odds be ever in your favor,**

 **And,**

 **Thank you for your sacrifice.**

* * *

 **Eulogies:**

 **15th: Blake** **Calloun, 17, District 4. Killed by Poppy. Created by 66samvr**. **Blake, you are the Tribute that we all loved to hate. But you will be missed, your complete lack of empathy and self-centered behavior was very fun to write and you were one of the most real Tributes inside of the Games. I know your character ended pretty far off of what** **66samvr originally intended every story needs a villain and Blake, you did a very good job. I also think its a little funny. Blake, a Career, ended up being killed by one of the weakest Tributes.**

 **14th: Talia Lancaster, 15, District 3. Killed by a mutt. Created by FrostyShadow.** **Talia, you were too pure and soft for these Games. In your complete trust of Callum, you forgot that sometimes the fight or flight instinct cannot be helped. And sometimes intentions are not kept no matter how well intended they are. I'm sorry your death was so gruesome, but the Capitol is starting to need a bit of a show. I'll miss your innocence and your story. I hope you're painting pictures from the beyond at the moment. Rooting Callum on.**

 **13th: Caroline Hollyhock, 17, District 5. Killed by Jerry. Created by jaded-love-pure-hate. Caroline, you were another character that we all loved to hate. You just wanted to keep your baby alive and ended up regretting the biggest decision of your life. I don't think that you were an honestly bad person, you just tried to do what you could to stay alive and keep your baby alive. Immoral maybe, but I don't think you truly had malicious intent. It's funny how karma catches up though.**

 **12th: Willow Ashes, 16, District 7. Killed by Carolyn. Created by Team Shadow. Willow you certainley had a journey. I'm glad you were able to come into your own for a bit at the end there even if you did not get away quite in time. I'm sorry about that. You were one fun charector to write that just wound up in a bad situation. You taunting the Careers was one of the funnest scenes that I have written and I will miss that from you.**

* * *

 **Sponsoring Information:**

Sponsoring is now open to your Tributes, or any Tributes that you would like to sponsor.

To Sponsor please stay active on the story and then PM me following this form;

Who would you like to Sponsor?

What would you like to Sponsor them?

Why do they deserve the item?

How could they use it to win?

What has been your favorite moment so far inside of the story?

As the Games ramp up I would like an increased level of detail to your answers :) And the reviews you have previously left will be factored in.

* * *

 **The fallen:**

 **Day One:**

 **24th: Flint Fraser, 13, District 12. Killed by Blake. Created by iridescenteverdeen** **. Flint became one of my favorite characters and I shed some tears thinking that he had to go. He was just too young and too scrawny. His persistence optimism followed him to the end and I'll miss him.**

 **23rd: Pricilla Winters, 15, District 12. Killed by Carolyn. Created by Mewkitcat** **. Pricilla fought to the end, her fear leading her to turn on those she probably could have trusted. Her family will miss her deeply, its almost fitting that she followed her District Partner out.**

 **22nd: Weft Loomis, 15, District 8. Killed by Ace. Created by** **destiny's sweet melody. Weft has a hard life, he had a solid plan but unfortunately was carried away by talk of alliances and those he trusted. His interview will be remembered as one of the best and his quirky sarcasm will be missed. He's with his mother and sister now.**

 **21st: Cole Rockweld, 15, District 9. Killed by Cassia. Created by The-Moth-God. Cole was a Tribute I think many expected to go far inside the Games. He almost did, but the true worth of alliances was shown at his expense. Cole did not go easily and he will leave his mark in the Games with the injuries he inflicted on Ace. He died fighting, Barrick can be proud of that.**

 **20th: Trafalgar Zaun, 15, District 10. Killed by Weiss. Created by 66samvr. Trav, they were different from any other Tribute I have seen before. They were so interesting to write and almost made it away. They can find solace in the friend they made in Eva, the true acceptance of their identity she had. But it is a bittersweet ending.**

 **19th: Eva Brath, 14, District 10. Killed by Esme. Created by Team Shadow. Eva was never designed to win these Games and I think most people saw that. I added a lot of backstory to this Tribute myself and she will always have a special spot. She can be with her sisters and father now, the hope that her youngest sister is not reaped will live on with the Capitol. That's all she ever wanted.**

 **18th: Violet Mercury, 14, District 8. Killed by Blake. Created by Booklovin'03. Violet, like Eva was never meant to win these Games. I think she knew that too. I think she would be okay with that, she wasn't sure if she wanted to win. Jasper will surely mourn her and her death will affect the District. It just wasn't meant to be.**

 **17th: Harvest Kohl, 15, District 11. Killed by a mutt. Created by curiousclove. Harvest was a special Tribute, so pure at heart and trying to be positive he just wanted to protect his crush. He sacrificed himself for her, even if he did not realize it at the moment and Poppy will surely be devastated. His memory will live on, and the courageous actions that he left. I think he would be happy, Poppy told him how she felt and they we're able to share a moment. I'll miss writing you Harvest, you and Poppy we're so cute together.**

 **16th: Kalista Stone, 17, District 9. Killed by Oliver. Created by The Girl With The Knives. Kalista's death was so hard for me to write, the reason for me balling my eyes out late at night. Shes a Tribute I got attached to but never really managed to spread that attraction. Her death is going to devastate Oliver and impact his Games forward. She could have made it so much further. Never getting to show off all of the skill and potential the Gamemakers saw in her. She's a Tribute I will miss deeply.**


	44. Clawing Desperation

**Bastion Steele, 19, District 1.**

When Bastion lost his eye just a little under a year ago he thought that he would never recover from it. That being able to see his nose would always bother him. That no longer being able to see on one side would hinder his quality of life. That no longer being able to judge distances quite right or see three-dimensional holograms would be the bane of his existence.

Yet, he found himself acclimating to what hand he had been dealt. He barely registers that he is different these days, barely remembers what it is like to see with both eyes. It is just apart of him that may as well have always been there. Hiding just out of reach. A reach only the girl from District Six could make.

Now the cycle has repeated itself. Bastion never thought he could get used to being he Head Gamemaker. But he has found himself sliding into the role quite comfortably. He knows which co-workers to press and who to watch out for. He knows the arena like the back of his hand and has mostly distanced himself from the Tributes inside of the Games.

 _How easy it is to turn into them,_ Bastion thought to himself one morning when overlooking the rest of the Gamemakers. He now has a routine. Gamemakers during the day, then at the President's mansion by night. He and Coraline barely even use the official Head Gamemakers mansion. The spare room in Ziva's mansion has become their own.

Yet he has had his evening disrupted tonight. Tonight, he spends it with the mentors.

Its customary for the Head Gamemaker to visit the mentors every now and then in the viewing areas. Tonight, Bastion has walked to the Tribute Center. Below where the Tributes train there are several floors dedicated to the mentors. He gets off at the second stop. _What if they hate me?_

The thought tunnels through the walls Bastion has put up to protect himself. It stops him in his tracks, about to round the corner to the viewing screens. _What if they hate me now I am one of the Capitol?_ The only other mentor he has seen of late is Adair who is keeping up the pretense of being involved with Ziva.

When he rounds the corner it is Adairs eyes that he meets first. The imposing man smiles at him, calling Bastion over to where he sits with a couple of the other mentors. Bastion recognizes Marvolo and Adam to be with him, which is curious as District Four and Six are not allied.

But once he walks over to them he realizes that it is not the Games being discussed. "The man of the hour finally arrives," Marvolo states. Getting up he wraps Bastion in a large hug. Bastion furrows his brows and looks at Adair who is still sitting on the coach. Adair mimes a glass to his lips. _Of course, he's been drinking. His male Tribute just died._

Bastion missed the moment rushing around the place but he knows that it was quite bloody. Both of Adairs tributes died in the bloodbath, 24th, and 23rd, so he does not have anyone left to worry about. Looking around Bastion spots Marvolo's wife, Alice, chatting to the mentors from two.

Bastion sits on the plush couch with the two other men, letting the drone of others voices full his head as he watches Tributes sleep on the screens. Right now, it shows the girl from District Five, the pregnant one, stumbling around in the dark. "I give her a day, if that," a voice from behind them states.

Turning around Bastion spots Ben Houtman, District Sevens newest Victor. " Yo, Ben, is it true you got into a fight with your Tribute the morning of the reapings?" Bastion and Adair burst out laughing at Marvolo's question, Adam snorts beside them. _Somehow I managed to miss that fact,_ Bastion muses.

Ben sighs loudly, "is it true I bet him? I would say that is fairly certain." Marvolo rolls his eyes. Ben has always had a way of talking that annoys some. To the Capitol he is _eloquent_ but to some of the other Victors, he just seems pretentious. Bastion has never really had much of a chance to get to know the man. "Anyways Bastion, you're the one we should all be sucking up to right?"

Bastions stomach sinks, he almost forgot about his position for a moment there. He was almost just another mentor instead of someone impossibly greater. _I wonder if they resent me for the position I was given? Surely not. No Victor would ask for this._ "And risk the wrath of the President? You can count me out of that plan Ben," Bastion replies quickly. This gains him a few chuckles from the others.

"I figured you were the reason why the Careers haven't been impacted yet," Adam says, staring at Bastion from the opposite side of the coach. With two Tributes in the top 14 District Six is doing much better than usual.

Bastion feels his heart sink at Adams words. _He has no idea what is coming tomorrow._ "I would count your blessings if I was you. Tomorrow could be a game changer." Before Bastion's ominous words sink in the Tribute from five starts screaming as mutt attacks her.

Bastion looks on as violence plays out on the screens in front of him. _I didn't do this,_ this time the voice in his head is a lie. And he knows it.

When the blood has spilled and the screens gone black Bastion stumbles his way back to Ziva's mansion. His head as heavy in his heart he spends the trip cursing himself out and authorizing the use of that mutt. It seemed too simple. He was told that it would be bloody, yet he had no idea how it would delay the kill so much.

How it would affect the Tributes so badly. When he closes his eyes he sees the boy from District Three stabbing the mutt over and over after his District partners cannon went off. The pure rage and grief on his face. The way the mutt blinded her before killing her. As if anticipating its own death by that spear it wanted to do incurable damage.

Well, it sure did.

When Bastion marches through the gates Isaiah comes to greet him. He notices the dark mood that resonated off of Bastion like a mist. "You need to hold it together a little longer. Ziva's waiting for you," Isiah informs Bastion.

Bastion rubs his eyes, what he wants most in the world is to curl up in bed with Coraline and enjoy a brief state of unconsciousness. Before the nightmares come. They surely will come tonight. "Why, what's wrong?" Bastion asks, his voice etched in tiredness.

"We have a final plan."


	45. Affection (GAMES - DAY 5)

**Ace Platinum, 18, District 1.**

Ace scratches his shoulder absentmindedly as he watches the horizon bloom over the arena. The rain has stopped, and with it a blood red sky rises. It does not bode well in Ace's heart, especially with all the cannons that he heard during the night. None of the Careers could sleep soundly.

Ace does not ache to be the one out there creating the cannons. His blood does not pulse with bloodlust. Instead, a dull ache can be felt running through his veins. What he wants more than anything is to be back home. Tiffany would be sleeping next to him, her heat pressing into his side and her smell would be on the tip of his tongue. She always smelt like cinnamon.

Now he sits here, watching a blood red horizon. Cold to the bone. Apart from his shoulder, that does not seem to cool down these days. He wonders what is in store for the rest of the Tributes today. After such an action-packed night they surely aren't hungry for more blood. Then again, this is the Capitol after all. Always searching for a new wave of misery to infect the Tributes.

Presumably, they will hunt today. Ace will not be able to get away with staying back to guard the supplies this time. He will be needed to fight. Blake is still out there, and the pair from seven, and… Ace finds that his memory has lost him. Has the boy from Six died? What about the one from Five?

Ace has not paid as much attention to the night sky as he really should have. Carolyn was keeping a tally of Tributes dead next to where she was marking the days. Ace rises with the sun, stretching out his limbs a faint wave of dizziness overcomes him. Squeezing his eyes closed Ace counts to five. It's a simple concentration technique he was taught at the Academy. It works again now.

When Ace opens his eyes again the dizziness is gone. It faded so quick he almost wonders if he simply imagined it. Walking over to the side of the cornucopia the rest of the Careers lie still. Whether they are fake sleeping or actually sleeping it does not bother Ace. He is content with the solitary that taking the night watch brings.

On one side of the cornucopia, there are four lines carves deeply. Ace adds another to the tally. _Day five._ Before he moves around to the other side, stretching as he goes he tries to add a bounce to his step that only makes his steps heavier.

On this side of the cornucopia, there are eight marks. Picking up the spear Ace carries he carves out four more groves. _Twelve down. We are halfway home._ The thought shocks Ace, who has not seen an enemy Tribute since the bloodbath. How easy he has had these Games so far, an easiness that surely will not carry over.

He looks down, pulling down the dark fabric of his shirt he sees where he was slashed by the young team of boys during the bloodbath. His heart jolts in his chest at what he sees. At what he has been keeping a secret so far.

The large cut, running across his shoulder has turned dark. The skin around the cut has become tight and painful to touch, it burns hotter than the cool wind should allow. The cut itself, dark tendrils have started to creep from. They are barely the size of his fingernail. But they were not there yesterday.

Ace has already applied all of the medicines that they were supplied with at the start of the Games. Nothing has seemed to make a dent in the wound. Ace is afraid to bandage it and let the others notice what has happened. Ace takes a deep breath before letting go of his shirt, repositioning it covers his wound completely. No one has to know about this.

It's his little secret.

 **Weiss Forge, 18, District 1.**

"I'm going hunting, who else would like to join me?" Weiss addresses the rest of the group. What a pitiful group of Careers they are. Unable to get a kill since the bloodbath they have practically been sitting ducks for anyone to come shooting. She can't stand the mundane of it all. The lack of desire the others have to write their names in the history books.

But most of all she cannot wait to hunt down Carolyn. To wipe that smug little grin off of her face when a knife entered her neck. Weiss can picture it now. _I'll show her what it means to mess with me_. Weiss thinks, ready to show the rest of the Careers who is really running the show here. Not Nate. Not Ace. But Weiss.

"Esme and I will come with you," Ace is quick to volunteer his name. Standing tall he smiles at Weiss with a wide grin that does not quite meet his eyes. Weiss nods, it's good for her to keep Esme close. Then Esme cannot tell anyone about the little favor that she is owed. The favor that will need to be collected soon. Weiss can tell it is only a matter of time before the Career pack folds, she will make the most of it before it does.

"That means Nate and Cassia you two are watching camp," Weiss takes over the role of leader for these final few moments as a group. Neither of the boys seems to mind. Both distracted by god knows what else on their mind they are happy to have the burden of authority lifted off of their shoulders. Weiss is happy to have it, she carries it like a weapon.

Quickly she picks up the supplies that she needs. She gives one of the two-way radios to Ace and the other to Nate. "Just in case we get separated," she explains as she pockets the third radio. No one seems to mind.

Leading the two behind her off she pays no attention to those that she leaves behind. They are no longer a concern for her. She leads the two across the shallow water, they then wade through a harsh current chest height. Grasping onto each other's jackets they move quickly through the fast-moving water. Weiss flinches when she feels something graze her leg but does not make it obvious for the others. She is stronger than childish scares.

They get to the shore of the forest in an almost record time. Weiss driving the pace with determination coursing through her veins. "Kill on site. No questions asked." She tells the other two with her, they nod along to her determined voice as Weiss radios back to Nate to tell him that they arrived on the island.

He radios shortly back before the channel goes silent. Weiss leads the group back to where she ran with Carolyn. Hoping her hunch is correct and that the girl would have headed for a slightly familiar trail. If she has its impossible for Weiss to tell. The storm wiped all traces of tracks off of the forest floor.

Instead, the tributes squelch on top of a layer of mud and sticks that seems to suck up their boots. A sickening sound follows the Tributes as they make their way along the forest floor. Their boots continuing to sink into the mud and then suck back out again.

That is until they start to hear the sound of something else. Running water. Weiss leads them towards the sound, her ears pricked for signs of any other Tributes. She hears nothing but the rapid falling of water, getting louder and louder and turning into a roar inside of her eardrums.

Eventually, they break out of the forest and see what is making the noise. A waterfall. "There has got to be a cave behind that." Esme's voice is confident.

"How can you be sure?" Ace asks, perspiration pouring off of his forehead he has not kept the pace nearly as well as Weiss would expect from him. She cannot really make herself care though, at least she is doing something now. Not caught up sitting on the rocks at camp.

"It looks too perfect. Everything too perfect is man-made." Esme replies matter of factly. Despite herself, Weiss agrees. There is something that looks a little too perfect about the way that the water falls The way it does not seem to hit anything behind itself at the bottom.

"Let's go check it out." Weiss's voice is confident. She learned to swim back in District One. Her father always told her that it was a waste of time. Weiss is the one laughing now. Looking back at Esme and Ace's expressions she sees that they do not share the same confidence as her.

"Fine. I'll go in alone." She huffs. Stripping off her backpack and jacket she grasps a single knife in her hand. She only needs one to make the kill. Smiling at those left behind her she dives into the water that takes her breath away from its coolness.

It's refreshing against Weiss's too hot skin. She's been too hot since the Games began. This is the first time that she has felt truly cool. Powering her way through the water she swims beneath the surface, barely taking any breaths she gets to the waterfall in a matter of minutes.

She surfaces just before it, taking a deep grasp of air she feels the water pound against first her head than her back then her legs underneath the water. She wants to laugh, it's almost like a back rub. When she surfaces again she sees that Esme was right. There is a cave here. She also sees another Tribute.

Jerking backward she stares into the glassy eyes of someone already dead. Kalista Stone. The name comes vaguely to Weiss's mind. Next to the Tribute a scythe lies, yet strangely it has no blood coating its tip. Weiss stays partially under the water as she looks around the cave.

There.

With his back facing the entrance Weiss stares at the large boy from District Five. He seems to be rocking back and forth, a dark red liquid coating his hands and chest. The metallic smell in the air tells Weiss that it is blood. The liquid also splatters the walls of the cave and Weiss briefly wonders if this Tribute is not all there.

He seems to whisper to himself. "I'm sorry," Weiss picks up the words carried by the echo of the cave. "I'm sorry for killing you! Please, take me with you!" The boy continues to yell at the wall. Weiss feels her heat go cold. It would almost be a pitty killing at this point.

"Take me with you!" he yells yet again.

"Alright," Weiss replies out loud. Before she throws her knife. It hits her target spot on.

In the distance, a cannon booms.

 **Callum Lennon, 18, District 3.**

It seems like loss has been the word to describe Callum's life.

He mulls the word over as he tries to re-light embers left from the electric blue flames back to life. His stomach growling loud enough to wake the dead. A dry patch is on his tongue, it won't go away no matter how hard he tries to get moisture on top of it.

He blows the ember again, ready to break down if it does not work it feels like he has been living inside of a dream. He has barely moved since the nighttime, his spear still embedded into the side of the mutt. Talia's body remains nearby. He can't bring himself to leave it. To leave her. He let her down in life, he is not ready for her to be taken away from him again.

The ember catches an almost dry set of kindling and erupts into the same blue flame. Callum drops the bundle in shocked surprise. The events that surrounded the blue flames come back to him in a rush that takes a simultaneous eternity and instant. He squeezes his eyes closed, but only sees her.

Sees the mutt ripping into her flesh while he is powerless to do anything. Sees himself throwing the spear that thudded into its body. The blood that ran from the both of them. The way that Talia was not able to say her final words. The way he will never know what she was trying to say.

Last words, what a joke they are.

He has missed the last words from Talia. From Wren. From his mother. He never heard what any of them had to say to him. Only missed connections. Only missed goodbyes. He could not be there for any of them. Not in the right way. Not in the only way possible.

One way or another they are all dead because of him. His mother died because his father left them. Because he was honest with her. His father left because he was born. Wren died because they were caught together. Because Callum would not run away. Talia died because he was weak. He forgot to protect her at the moment that it mattered the most. That he had sworn to protect her.

Tears fall from Callum's vision onto the embers he is so desperately trying to get back to life and he falls onto his back. He realizes that he is out in the open, but he also could not care. He takes a deep breath. If he loses it then Talia's death is for nothing. It can't be for nothing. Not for his conscious or her memory.

Taking another breath he gives up on sparking a fire. Instead, he throws the body of the mutt straight overtop of the embers. He hears its flesh sizzling as smoke starts to erupt from the spot its body once was.

Soon, the smell of cooking meat is all that Callum can register and his mouth starts to salivate. He cannot remember the last time that he ate inside of these Games. He can practically hear the fat sizzle out of the carcass and turns its body over with a stick, trying to cook it evenly he chars some spots and others still look too pink. But he does not mind. His stomach growls as loud as an engine.

Saliva is dripping down his chin before he can't hold himself in any longer. Tearing parts of the mutts flesh off he stuffs it into his mouth with dirty fingers. He does not taste the dirt. The mutt tastes gamey and is tough to chew, almost like rubber.

Callum tares into it like he has just tried the Capitol cuisine for the first time, fat dibbles from the fox down his chin and merges with Callum's saliva as he continues to rip into its piping hot flesh. It feels good to eat it. Almost too good. He tells himself he is just eating it for survival. But in his heart, he knows that is not the complete truth. He is eating it for revenge.

In a bizarre twist of heart, Callum stares at the mutts eyeballs. Still fixed in place despite the heat of the embers Callum twists and rips them out of the mutts head. Squishing them underneath his fingers a clear liquid runs through them as a grimace lights up his face.

 **Carolyn Aquana, 17, District 4.**

Carolyn wakes with a pain to her head where she was hit by the trident. She does not recall being hit, nor does she recall hitting the ground. She tries to move a hand up, to feel where a lump has formed on the back of her head. Yet she finds resistance when she tries to move her arms. Panic courses through her veins when she feels rope tense around her wrists.

She tries to kick her feet out, only to find her arms jolted back with them. Craning her neck around she can just see that her hands and legs have been bound together. She glares at the ropes as if her vision is enough to release her then and there. She won't let panic enfold her just yet. She did not leave the Careers to get killed by some fuckwit from District 7 who she was trying to find anyway.

She continues to pull against the rope. _I was fucking Sponsored it. It's my rope._ Until rope burns start to corrode her wrists. She glares at the burns, annoyed at her body for being so weak. Annoyed at her body for betraying her like this.

"You're not getting out," a deep voice states with humor woven into it. Carolyn looks up in alarm as she stares right into the eyes of the boy she knew that it would be.

Nirvana Ivanov.

"Why did you tie me up?" Carolyn growls at him, her face contorting to a snarl like a wild animal. Nirvana smirks at her expression.

"Cute," he tells her. "Tying you up seems relatively merciful seeing as you just killed my alliance member." He goes on to explain, his voice projecting an arrogance only found in a certain type of man. Willow glares at the floor. _This whole plan was a waste of time._

"Oh please, she was only dragging you down. You'll do much better without her." Carolyn replies, continuing to glare at the boy. He smiles down at her, shuffling slightly closer he holds up the only other trident in the Games.

"She got me this. I would not call that useless." Nirvana states matter of factly, twirling the trident around his body he grins. Carolyn grins when he drops it. Jumping out of the way one of its prongs narrowly misses one of Nirvana's toes.

"What the fuck are you laughing at?" Nirvana turns on Carolyn. Bringing the trident back out of the ground he points it at her throat. Carolyn's eyes go wide in alarm.

"Nothing," she splutters out. Her heart hammering in her chest for the first time in these Games. She feels powerless. That is not something Carolyn Aquana has felt for a very very long time. "I wanted to ally with you since the beginning. Why do you think I let you survive the bloodbath after your suicidal go at Cassia?"

That question stumps Nirvana. He freezes in place before taking a couple of steps back and putting the trident down. He inches closer to Carolyn like she is a dangerous animal in a flimsy cage. "Why did you let me go?" He asks, his voice uncertain.

Carolyn has to stop herself from rolling her eyes. "Since I'd prefer to be in alliance with you than the other Careers. You scored higher than the majority of them anyway." Carolyn makes the statement like an offhand comment. By the way Nirvana's eyes light up at the compliment she knows that she has guessed correctly. She knew since he flirted with her in one of the first days of training. She's known since the beginning.

"What happened to your face?" Nirvana asks, noticing the scar that runs across it.

"I needed an excuse for letting you go. Hence you 'attacked me.'" Carolyn's voice drips with sarcasm and it has the right effect Nirvana actually laughs.

"I did a pretty good job," Nirvana jokes back as the tension dissipates between them. Carolyn starts to feel butterflies replace the tension in her chest.

"You're right," Nirvana says, shuffling slightly closer to Carolyn.

"Willow was a pretty boring alliance member. I'm sure you're going to be a lot more interesting."

 **Jerry Kapper, 15, District 6.**

Jerry stares up at the stars with tears swimming at the edge of his vision. He has been careful to stay out of the Careers path, keeping in touch with where they are on the radio he has made sure to avoid the waterfall and surrounding area.

He knows they are going back now so has gone back into the open. Lying underneath a tree he props his back against it as he watches the names that appear projected onto the sky.

Talia Lancaster, District 3.

Blake Calloun, District 4.

Caroline Hollyhock, District 5.

Oliver Apollo, District 5.

Willow Ashes, District 7.

Their faces are branded onto Jerry's eyelids. He does not want to forget those who have died inside of the Games. For all he knows, he could be a face up there too. But he can't believe that. Not if he wants to go home. Not with all the competition he already has to face.

He found a packet of dried apples inside of Caroline's large hiking backpack and has managed to find the space to transfer all of his possessions inside of it too. Jerry grins when he sees his loot, he's almost as well stocked as the Careers.

He's in a lot more pain than them though. Trying to ration his painkillers he has not had one since he ripped the knife out of his arm. Luckily, it did not seem to puncture an artery. But Jerry has a very tightly wrapped bandage around it. A bandage coated in sterilizing solvents and liquids it burned like nothing he had felt before when he first applied it to his bleeding wound. The pain was almost enough to have him pass out.

Not quite enough though, he did not get the mercy of unconsciousness. He has not slept since he took the girls life. He is too afraid for what he might dream. The kill was needed, she was dying anyway. _Was she really dying when she fought back that hard? It's no matter, she was a terrible person. Terrible people deserve to die. Am I terrible for killing her?_

Jerry thinks back to his own District. Of the girl, he left back home. What would Melanie think of him killing a pregnant girl? It was self-defense. But the image of his girl back home. Of his best friend seems to have faded more and more inside of his mind as the Games go on. He has not forgotten her, merely distanced himself from his old life. He's not sure if its a role that he will be able to fit back into _if-when_ he returns home.

His arm hurts too much for him to try and climb a tree to sleep so Jerry crawls underneath a particularly thick looking patch of bushes. Curling his legs up he wraps his arms around them to try and feel some kind of connection.

 **Nathaniel Mattingly 18, District 2.**

Nate and Cassia sit together on the jagged ground. An elevated patch they can just see overtop of the cornucopia and out to the island full of trees beyond. They have been sitting in silence since the anthem. Neither wanting to break the quiet of the night.

A cool gust of wind blows, ruffling the hair on Nates head and causing Cassias to fly in front of her face. Nate smirks at the soft frown that runs across her lips. Reaching a hand out he scoops her loose hair back behind her ear. She smiles at him, showing two rows of perfect teeth.

"You know you never told me about something," she tells him softly. It takes him a moment to understand what she is saying. Her voice almost completely lost to another gust of wind. Nate notices Cassias body starts to shake slightly. Taking a deep breath, the cool air biting his lungs, he shifts over, pressing their sides together he wraps an arm around her shoulders.

When she leans into his chest he lets a breath go that he did not realize he was holding. "What didn't I tell you?" Nate mumbles into her ear. He can feel goosebumps form where his hot breath met her cool skin. He feels her shiver from a different catalyst.

"You didn't tell me if you were seeing anyone," Cassia teases. Nate feels his heart construct inside his chest and pulls his body away from Cassias slightly. He takes her face in his hands and stares into her blue-green eyes.

"If I was seeing anyone else, do you think I would do this?" He asks her, before pressing his lips to hers. At that moment the wind hitting their backs does not matter, the fact they could not live to see another sunrise does not matter. Nothing matters but each other. They swim in an abyss of each other's bliss.

When they break away from each other Nate has caught Cassias slight frown. "What's up?" She asks him, not able to wipe a small smile from her face. Nate looks at her for a long moment, his heart beating faster in his chest.

Nate clears his throat, trying to remove a lump. "I was never seeing anyone," he starts to explain, his voice shaky. "But there was someone who I might have been if I didn't volunteer." He looks down at his boots, a blush creeping over his cheeks even if he is not sure why. He moves his toes inside of his boots, needing to do something.

Cassia grasps his hand into hers. "We all have a past. I know that better than anyone. Do you want to talk about it?" Nate opens his mouth with the word no on his lips. But he closes his lips again. Taking another shaky breath his thoughts spin around his mind like a whirlwind. _What do I have to lose?_

"Milo. His name is Milo." Nate cannot bring himself to meet Cassias eyes. "He's my best mate but I was too boneheaded to see it when I was in the District. All I could see was training." Nates voice cracks and he takes a moment to stop talking, reaching down he takes a drink out of a canteen they had resting next to their feet.

For a moment he lets himself feel the lump in his throat, how hot his eyes feel and the way moisture pricks at their edges. He lets a single tear fall drop his eye, squeezing them closed he does not want Cassia to see him weak. He takes a shaky breath before squeezing Cassia tighter.

"I'm not making that mistake again," he tells her, swallowing back the lump. "Got to appreciate what I've got over here." He feels the heat of Cassias blush and does not need to turn his head to see it.

"You and me, we are going as far as we can. I promise."

* * *

Authors note: I was originally planning this chapter to go in a different direction so sorry if I built up this chapter more than it deserved. However, it is all about to kick off. The Careers are getting to a boiling point and so is the arena...

Let me know what you thought of this chapter! Please please please review, they are what keep me going. What are your predictions for the final eight?

May the odds be ever in your favor,

And,

Thank you for your sacrifice.

* * *

Eulogies:

 **11th: Oliver Apollo, 17, District 5. Killed by Weiss. Created by StephenSwiss. Ollie, you were a good man. You tried to stay true to yourself at the end and ultimately you just lost the plot a little bit. Everyone experiences death differently and for Ollie, it pushed him over the edge. Its a bittersweet ending for Ollie, he finally has escaped the present that he hated so much. Yet he has lost his opportunity for a future. He will be missed.**

* * *

Sponsoring Information:

Sponsoring is now open to your Tributes, or any Tributes that you would like to sponsor.

To Sponsor please stay active on the story and then PM me following this form;

Who would you like to Sponsor?

What would you like to Sponsor them?

Why do they deserve the item?

How could they use it to win?

What has been your favorite moment so far inside of the story?

As the Games ramp up I would like an increased level of detail to your answers :) And the reviews you have previously left will be factored in.

* * *

 **The fallen:**

 **24th: Flint Fraser, 13, District 12. Killed by Blake. Created by iridescenteverdeen. Flint became one of my favorite characters and I shed some tears thinking that he had to go. He was just too young and too scrawny. His persistence optimism followed him to the end and I'll miss him.**

 **23rd: Pricilla Winters, 15, District 12. Killed by Carolyn. Created by Mewkitcat. Pricilla fought to the end, her fear leading her to turn on those she probably could have trusted. Her family will miss her deeply, its almost fitting that she followed her District Partner out.**

 **22nd: Weft Loomis, 15, District 8. Killed by Ace. Created by destiny's sweet melody. Weft has a hard life, he had a solid plan but unfortunately was carried away by talk of alliances and those he trusted. His interview will be remembered as one of the best and his quirky sarcasm will be missed. He's with his mother and sister now.**

 **21st: Cole Rockweld, 15, District 9. Killed by Cassia. Created by The-Moth-God. Cole was a Tribute I think many expected to go far inside the Games. He almost did, but the true worth of alliances was shown at his expense. Cole did not go easily and he will leave his mark in the Games with the injuries he inflicted on Ace. He died fighting, Barrick can be proud of that.**

 **20th: Trafalgar Zaun, 15, District 10. Killed by Weiss. Created by 66samvr. Trav, they were different from any other Tribute I have seen before. They were so interesting to write and almost made it away. They can find solace in the friend they made in Eva, the true acceptance of their identity she had. But it is a bittersweet ending.**

 **19th: Eva Brath, 14, District 10. Killed by Esme. Created by Team Shadow. Eva was never designed to win these Games and I think most people saw that. I added a lot of backstory to this Tribute myself and she will always have a special spot. She can be with her sisters and father now, the hope that her youngest sister is not reaped will live on with the Capitol. That's all she ever wanted.**

 **18th: Violet Mercury, 14, District 8. Killed by Blake. Created by Booklovin'03. Violet, like Eva was never meant to win these Games. I think she knew that too. I think she would be okay with that, she wasn't sure if she wanted to win. Jasper will surely mourn her and her death will affect the District. It just wasn't meant to be.**

 **17th: Harvest Kohl, 15, District 11. Killed by a mutt. Created by curiousclove. Harvest was a special Tribute, so pure at heart and trying to be positive he just wanted to protect his crush. He sacrificed himself for her, even if he did not realize it at the moment and Poppy will surely be devastated. His memory will live on, and the courageous actions that he left. I think he would be happy, Poppy told him how she felt and they we're able to share a moment. I'll miss writing you Harvest, you and Poppy we're so cute together.**

 **16th: Kalista Stone, 17, District 9. Killed by Oliver. Created by The Girl With The Knives. Kalista's death was so hard for me to write, the reason for me balling my eyes out late at night. Shes a Tribute I got attached to but never really managed to spread that attraction. Her death is going to devastate Oliver and impact his Games forward. She could have made it so much further. Never getting to show off all of the skill and potential the Gamemakers saw in her. She's a Tribute I will miss deeply.**

 **15th: Blake Calloun, 17, District 4. Killed by Poppy. Created by 66samvr. Blake, you are the Tribute that we all loved to hate. But you will be missed, your complete lack of empathy and self-centered behavior was very fun to write and you were one of the most real Tributes inside of the Games. I know your character ended pretty far off of what 66samvr originally intended every story needs a villain and Blake, you did a very good job. I also think its a little funny. Blake, a Career, ended up being killed by one of the weakest Tributes.**

 **14th: Talia Lancaster, 15, District 3. Killed by a mutt. Created by FrostyShadow. Talia, you were too pure and soft for these Games. In your complete trust of Callum, you forgot that sometimes the fight or flight instinct cannot be helped. And sometimes intentions are not kept no matter how well intended they are. I'm sorry your death was so gruesome, but the Capitol is starting to need a bit of a show. I'll miss your innocence and your story. I hope you're painting pictures from the beyond at the moment. Rooting Callum on.**

 **13th: Caroline Hollyhock, 17, District 5. Killed by Jerry. Created by jaded-love-pure-hate. Caroline, you were another character that we all loved to hate. You just wanted to keep your baby alive and ended up regretting the biggest decision of your life. I don't think that you were an honestly bad person, you just tried to do what you could to stay alive and keep your baby alive. Immoral maybe, but I don't think you truly had malicious intent. It's funny how karma catches up though.**

 **12th: Willow Ashes, 16, District 7. Killed by Carolyn. Created by Team Shadow. Willow you certainley had a journey. I'm glad you were able to come into your own for a bit at the end there even if you did not get away quite in time. I'm sorry about that. You were one fun charector to write that just wound up in a bad situation. You taunting the Careers was one of the funnest scenes that I have written and I will miss that from you.**


	46. End Game

**Ziva Crimson, 27, The Capitol.**

Ziva and Anya sit together inside of the Presidents Mansion, the Games plays across the large TV Screen that neither of them is paying any attention to. They are too caught up in their own little world. Anya is platting Ziva's hair, not bothering to tie it up she merely plats it then lets it fall flat and slowly untangle again. Ziva's eyes are closed, large purple bags resting underneath them. The bags are covered for the cameras, but it is the end of a very long day. Neither has bothered to hide that.

From the doorway enters Isiah. He does his best to not see the intimate moment that the two women share as his eyes darts around the room, looking for threats around every possible corner. Ziva smiles softly when she remembers the first time that she met the young man. He looked a lot different back then, but his determination to do what was right was clear to see. Ziva chose him over much more experienced men and she has never looked back since.

Adair enters next, sitting down across from the woman he does not try to be subtle when he looks at them. Anya laughs at his expression and Ziva winks, not wanting to move she shuffles slightly further away from Anya. So that she is no longer resting in the other woman's lap. After a long glance, Anya drops her hands from Ziva's hair. Both the women miss warmth gifted from each other, but this is not the time.

Finally, Bastion and Coraline enter. Small smiles on their lips their hands are linked. Adair rolls his eyes, yelling a joke over to Isiah the other man rebuts it back. Laughter echoes around the group who has become as close as a family since the Games have begun.

When the laughter dies out Ziva looks around the faces of all of those who have gathered. Bastion, the Victor caught up in this mess. Coraline, the soundless love at his side. Adair, the Victor shoved under the rug. Isaiah, her loyal to the end guard who has become more like a family member. And finally right next to her, Anya. The woman who has stolen any trace of doubt in Ziva's mind that true love does not exist. Because she feels it, she feels it every time she looks at her.

This plan might ruin it all.

She sees what the Capitol has done to them all. Coraline a slave. Bastion and Adair murderers. Anya having to hide. They all deserve more than Ziva has been able to give them than her rule has been able to give them. She's ready to give it all up.

Clearing her throat her hand grasps Anya's as she starts to direct the plan to the rest of the group. "When the arena drops to the final eight the plan will be set in motion." Ziva's eyes drift to the portrait of her parents hanging on the wall and she takes a deep breath. Inside her heart confliction swirls, she knows the wouldn't approve of this.

"Our group," Ziva issues to the friends around her as she swallows a lump out of her throat. "Will have the task of getting out of the Capitol, like Coraline suggested we will be using the trains." Ziva pulls out a large diagram she has been staring at for the past week and weighs its edges down with books.

She demonstrates where they will meet and how the groups will get there without attracting attention before passing around small devices. "Earpieces," Isaiah explains briefly, showing everyone how to put them in. "We can't be sure quite when we will need to escape so it's important to have them in at all times. They are waterproof and link up with your phones." Isaiah then demonstrates how to use the microphone feature hidden into all of their phones.

His eyes linger on Coraline, reaching into his pocket he hands her one too. She holds its clear glass screen with wonder, her eyes expressing all the emotions her mouth ever could. Isaiah smiles softly before looking back to Ziva. She clears her throat.

"The other group is going to be lead by Pax, a Gamemaker." Bastions eyes raise in surprise and Isaiah laughs out loud. "Isaiah's had him on our side the whole time, he's got some unpaid debt," Ziva explains to Bastion. Bastion quickly wipes his face of emotion, looking sternly in front of him.

"While we are using the trains to escape over to District Thirteen Pax's group will be bringing down the arena and rescuing the Tributes from it." Ziva feels a surge of pride at the plan they have managed to create.

"If all goes well the Tributes will then meet us back in District Thirteen." Bastions foot bounces up and down in agitation. It's clear he is worried about Ace and the infection that has obviously set in. While Ziva has not directly asked him she has talked to some of the on-site medics. It does not look good. Especially with how sparse sponsoring has been as of late.

"Now, I probably don't need to remind you but I'll do it anyway. What we are doing here is treason. If we are caught by someone who opposes me…" Ziva's voice trails off, she takes a deep breath. "Then you won't make it out alive. Is everyone ready to commit to that?" Ziva stares at the faces of those who have become her best friends, the lump rising again.

Isaiah nods.

"There is no other option," Bastion says with Coraline and Adair nodding alongside him.

Ziva turns to Anya, her eyes pleading. "Are you ready to take this leap?" Ziva whispers, Anya squeezes her hand in support. A knot of tension immediately dissolves inside of Ziva's stomach. She needs this woman with her. There is no other option.

"Bastion, do you have any prediction about when we will get to the final eight?" Ziva asks him finally.

"Two days," Baston replies gruffly.

When the quiet conversation has drifted off on the wind and the guests retired to their accommodation Ziva looks across to Anya. The woman looks just as beautiful as the moment they first met.

"What do you think my parents would say about this?" Ziva asks Anya, not sure if she wants to know the answer.

Anya takes a deep breath. "I think they would be proud of you for fighting for the future you want. Even if you can't save everyone." Ziva sighed, pressing her head against Anya's chest she listens to Anya's heartbeat. It steadies her.

"I love you," Ziva whispers to Anya, bringing an arm up she twirls a lock of the other woman's hair in between her fingers.

Anya leans down. "I love you too," she replies before their lips meet.


	47. Severed Ties (GAMES - DAY 6)

**Weiss Forge, 18, District 1.**

Something has shifted inside of Weiss since she killed that boy in the cave. Killing, it has no longer become about mere survival. It's become something dark and twisted, something almost taboo. She wants to laugh, the Games are the only place where killing is _not_ taboo. But something inside her stops her, she has become the taboo one.

Her eyes did not close for sleep at all during the night despite her not being the official one on watch. She slowed her breathing and pretended to sleep with her back toward Esme who has been on watch all night. Weiss used to get bored in time like this, where she laid in bed and could not sleep, now, she thinks.

Only ten Tributes remain. Traditionally, the Career pack starts to break down at eight. They are all trained for it, know what to expect, know how to claw their way to victory. But Weiss isn't so sure she will be able to come out on top. Not with the way the others are pairing off. Weiss is a single soldier in a pairs war. No amount of loyalty or wishful thinking is going to change that.

But she still has that favor. The one Esme owes her. Her mind has been ticking it over for the past few days, waiting for an opportunity, and such a perfect one has arrived. Her eyes dart over to a sleeping Ace beside her. _A way to kill two birds with one stone._

Ever so gently she gets up from her position, stretching out she tries not to disrupt Ace from his slumber. Despite the morning glow, the forest is as silent as the dead. It's eerie, but not to Weiss, she finds it rather pleasant. The songs of birds used to wake her up inside of the District until she used them as target practice. The silence echoes a maliciousness of her home, one that will be needed for her to get out of the arena alive.

Esme's eyebrows rise as Weiss makes eye contact with her. Cocking her head to the side Weiss issues for Esme to walk with her. The expression on Esme's face drops immediately, looking tourn she follows Weiss. When they are out of hearing distance from Ace, Weiss turns toward Esme, a broad grin on her face.

"I'm cashing in the favor," Weiss tells Esme. Her heart beating an eccentric rhythm inside her heart. She watches as Esme's face darkens. She knows what is going to be asked of her, even if she won't admit it.

Weiss waits for Esme to ask what she needs to do, the grin growing broader on her face. Esme does not bite, staying silent she has a stormy expression. Its dipped in hopelessness though, there isn't anything she can do. "Aren't you going to ask me what it is?" Weiss teases, her voice dripping sweet, like cinnamon coated saliva.

Esme's eyes remain impossible to read as she looks back at Weiss. In reply, she cocks one eyebrow above the other, barely a movement. But Weiss smiles at it, it means she is listening.

"You're going to kill Ace."

 **Nirvana Ivanov, 18, District 7.**

Nirvana stares down at his captive as he watches her sleep. Her ropes still bound her head rests against the dusty ground, a couple of stones are caught underneath her chin. Nirvana leans down, gently brushing the stones away. They leave indents on Carolyn's chin. Nirvana smiles, a warmth coming from his hand where his fingertips brush against her cheek.

Getting back up again he looks around at the cave that the two of them rest in. He found it on the walkway between the cornucopia and the outcrop where he and Willow made their home for the past five days. He smiles as he tucks into a packet of dried meat the Carolyn had in her jacket pocket. He was able to get all of her hidden goodies when she was unconscious, his fingers lingering.

Smiling, he picks up a small rock by his feet. Running its smooth exterior through his fingers he remembers when a different Career did something similar to his old ally. His mind goes back to Willow, the good memories muddling with the bad to create a whirlwind inside of his mind.

The way she looked at the chariot ride, the way she felt like she was better than him. How fearless she was when she climbed the cliff, the way her lips curled in disdain when he joked about the last night they shared in the Capitol. The way her body looked in death, the way he can't quite make himself care.

He throws the rock.

The instant it touches Carolyn she shoots up in the air. Trying to get to her feet she pulls the ropes tight and yelps as they constrict her limbs. Nirvana smiles at the way she tries not to cry out in pain at the way the rope has bitten into her skin. Angry red welts begin to form to match the angry scar across her face. Nirvana smirks, he thinks it makes her look cuter.

"You know, I'd make a better alliance member if you untied me," Carolyn's voice is dripping with acid as she scowls at the ground. Not tilting her upward to see the boy that has placed her into this position. Nirvana smiles a broad smile at her.

"With an attitude like that, how could I not?" He replies, moving over he placed his hands over the ropes that constrict Carolyn. He feels her body tense in anticipation and a rush of power flows into him. Then he drops his arms.

"I'm not that much of an idiot," he tells her. Rolling his eyes he moves his body away from hers. She scowls, her whole face contorting into something akin to the devil herself. He smiles even broader still at it, itching the stitches that Willow patched him up with absentmindedly. A twinge of pain gets his endorphins running even higher.

"There's only one way you are getting out of those ropes," Nirvana teases.

"How?" Carolyn asks, her voice more of a growl than anything.

"By telling me about yourself."

 **Cassia Slander, 16, District 2.**

Cassia paces around the cornucopia, barely feeling the jagged ground underneath her boots she looks anxiously at Nate who holds the radio to his lips. "You guys there?" He asks yet again, for what feels like the hundredth time. They have had no contact from them. Not since last night. He silence is deafening in Cassia's ears.

It's most likely that they were just making a kill. Found someone on their treck to get back to the cornucopia. _But they why won't they radio back?_ Cassia's heart beats faster in her chest, she knows that something has gone wrong. _She just knows._

"We should go out there and try to find them," she tells Nate. Going back toward the cornucopia she starts to pack supplies into a large backpack that lays halfway open. She barely gets an item in before Nates arms stop her in an embrace more like a cage.

Cassia fights to get away from him, in her mind, he is no longer Nate. She is no longer in the arena. She is back in her own District fighting against her brother and the men that he forces her to be with. Screaming through her teeth Cassia fights back the demons, trying to get them away. Trying to get Nate away. Trying to get it all away.

Only when the bands let go does she stop struggling and instead she collapses. Falling against the ground she wraps her arms around herself and lets out sobs that wrack her whole body. Tears flowing down her cheeks she tries to remember where she is. Who she is. She grasps onto tendrils of memories that are fleeting through her mind like water through her fingers.

A hand grasp hers, its warmth is enough for Cassia to anchor onto. Slowly, like being pulled from a current, does she start to surface from the depths that is her own mind. She breaks the surface and stares into Nate's eyes.

"It's okay," the words are disconnected to Cassias ears. They come from Nates lips. Repeated again and again like the wind from underneath a hummingbird's wings. Cassia slowly comes back to him, goosebumps breaking out over her body like the air had just hit a negative temperature. She wraps her arms around his shoulders and presses her head to his chest. The rhythm of his heartbeat steady's her.

"You're safe with me," Nate tells her and the words stick in Cassias brain. Looking up she smiles at the boy who's become her world. Vision locked together they no longer need to converse with words, their eyes speak for them.

That is until Nate's widen when he looks behind her. Cassia turns her body from his, letting her hands drop from his shoulder her heart starts to beat again for a different reason. It plummets when she sees the figure coming toward them.

 **Nathaniel Mattingly 18, District 2.**

Nate shoots up from the ground when he realizes who the figure is. His legs getting tangles with Cassias he jumps from her grasp as his hand goes to the sword that he holds behind him. Raising it high he yells to the bloodied figure.

"What happened?" His heartbeat pumps in his ear, throbbing of vengeance and bloodlust. He waits for the figure to reply not wanting to move closer his mind screams that this might be a trap. That something has gone very terribly wrong.

It takes the figure collapsing for Nate to rush over, leaving Cassia behind him he yells at her to stay behind him as his boots crunch over the harsh ground. When he reaches the figure they moan in pain as his fingertips graze their skin.

All Nate can see underneath his fingertips is red. Pulling up the figure shirt he sees a gash going from underneath their armpit to their hip. Pulling his own shirt off, Nate tries to stem the torrent of crimson that is rushing from their body. Cassia comes over and starts to do the same with her jacket, together they put Nates shirt across the wound then use Cassia's jacket and wrap it tightly around the shirt.

"Get the bandages," Nate tells Cassia once they flow has weakened some. Cassia rushes off back toward the cornucopia and Nate briefly realizes how out in the open he is right now. How whoever did this to the figure in front of him could easily attack them while they are weak. Briefly thinking Nate scoops the body of the figure up and rushes back toward the cornucopia, managing to place them on top of one of the cots.

The shock of movement grants the figures eyes to widen as Cassia removes the jacket and starts wrapping bandages as tightly as she can around the figure's chest. The figure tries to speak, but the words are lost to the wind. Nate rushes closer to them, ear practically to their lips he can't afford to miss a word they say.

"Who did this to you?" He asks, his voice a deep rumble.

"Esme," The figure replies.

 **Jerry Kapper, 15, District 6.**

Jerry is shocked awake when he hears the rapid pounding of boots nearby. Shooting up his hair gets caught in the tendrils of creepers that create the canopy above him. His heart hammers in his chest when he sees the unmistakable black leather boots of Tributes a few measly meters in front of him.

He tries to sink as low as possible to the ground, desperately hoping that he will not be spotted. _I let myself sleep too long. This is my mistake._ Jerry yells at himself inside of his mind. Between the pounding of his ears and the constant chatter inside of his own head he barely registers when the two figures begin to talk.

He takes a deep breath to try and steady himself. _I can't afford to miss what they are saying to each other._ Taking a deep breath he starts to quieten the pounding. Listening out he is thankful that no birds live in this forest. What was once eerie is now an advantage.

"You shouldn't have done that," his voice is deep. Jerry knows that he has heard it before and it takes him a moment too long to place it. Ace. He's one of the Careers.

"What was I supposed to do? Kill you?" It's a girl, she sounds puffed. Jerry would know that voice anywhere. Esme.

His arm throbs from his knife wound but he strains to hear what they are saying, immensely curious about why these two Careers seem almost scared. Certainly, they are exhausted, Jerry wonders briefly how long they have been moving for.

"It would have given you a better chance!" Aces voice is aggrivated and stressed. Tiredness seems to drip from the corner of his lips.

"What are you? Chopped liver?" Esme asks her voice rising with his they are practically shouting at each other. Jerry presses his whole body into the ground as they take a step closer to where he hides. Dirt tickling his nose he wraps his hands around it to stop his body from sneezing.

"I'm dead anyway!" Ace's voice projects around the forest. It echoes dully off of the trees. It echoes of a secret finally revealed. Jerry can hear shuffling and then a harsh intake of breath but cannot see what is going on.

"When did you get that?" Jerry can barely hear Esme's voice.

"The bloodbath," Ace replies.

A silence descends between the two Tributes, long enough for Jerry to wonder if they have walked off. But then Esme speaks up, "let's get moving then. We don't want Weiss coming back to find us." With that Jerry hears the shuffling of boots as they start to walk away from his hiding spot.

Jerry waits as long as he can before he lets out a sneeze. His whole body tense he shakes despite the warmth that has become of the day. _The Gamemakers are ramping up the temperature,_ Jerry thinks. Scrambling out from beneath the protection of leaves Jerry struggles to pull his large backpack up with him, his left arm straining.

Once he gets it out he is panting in the spot that the two Careers once stood. _Something has changed._ Jerry can tell it from the way the arena is getting hotter and the horizon is already tipping, _the days are getting shorter._

He takes a deep breath, it is not dark enough yet to put on his night vision goggles so instead he reaches for the radio receiver out of his pack. Bringing it out he is met with resounding silence from all channels.

Jerry's window of opportunity has gone, and now he is in the dark. Just like the rest of them. Sighing deeply he takes a moment to mourn his loss, the radio is heavy. There is no point carrying something that is merely going to be dead weight.

He leaves the radio next to a dark colored tree. Burying it in rocks that he finds nearby he finds a method in his chaos. A part of him tells himself that it is stupid to abandon something so vital but another part, the stronger part knows the truth, the radios are out of the Game now the Career pack is gone.

This thought is the only one on his mind as he walks off, with no destination in sight. He just knows that he wants to leave the grove where he heard the two talk. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

 **Poppy Northrop, 15, District 11.**

 _Poppy, you have to hide, there is someone coming._ Harvests voice guides Poppy from her haze.

She has been wandering around the woods for the past day, trying to find an exit, to find a way back to the colorful pebble beach. But every time she tries to get closer to it she seems to be forced in another path. An outcrop of rocks and a steep hill guarding the way, a fallen tree guarding a pathway, a steep crevice with rushing water underneath. Poppy has come to believe she will never leave this place.

Harvests voice has been keeping her going, has been reminding her when to take breaks. He noticed when there was a plant on the ground that Poppy could not remember if it was edible. Harvest reminded her it was and Poppy had her first meal in days.

As if she was guided by another force she crouches behind a tree, peering in front of it she sees the boy from Three. He's tall and looks disheveled, his eyes wide with something more potent than fear. He seems to search for something, in particular, listening to the silence that wraps the forest in its cocoon.

 _Poppy, he's a threat._ Harvests voice tells her roughly, Poppy could almost imagine how his eyes would dart around the area. Trying to find a weapon or escape route. They are down to ten, there is no escape route.

Looking down she sees the blade. In her mind's eye, it is still coated with the blood of the Career from Four. _He will kill you if he sees you._ Harvest pushes Poppy to take a firmer grip of the knife. Her body shakes as she watches as the boy stops for a moment, reaching into his pocket he grasps a canteen and starts to drink from it greedily. He does not know that danger that lurks hidden in the shadows of the moonlight.

 _Now!_ Poppy jerks forward, her knife raised at an awkward angle she thrusts it into the boy. He screams a blood-curdling howl that breaks out into the night before he brings his own weapon up. A spear. Poppy barely has time to react before the spear sends blood cascading down her own skin.

She feels dissociated from her own body, the pain unable to be felt as she scrambles backward, her knife lost to the boy's flesh she trips over her own feet but manages to stay upright as she rushes away from the boy.

He does not give chase.

 **Carolyn Aquana, 17, District 4.**

"Can you at least let me stretch my legs?" Carolyn asks Nirvana. He has been watching over her the whole day, unable to move she has been left to her own thoughts. Boring ones at that, above all Carolyn is bored.

Nirvana shakes his head, tight-lipped. He has not said a word to her since he told her how to get out. _Tell me about yourself._ Carolyn continues to scowl at the memory. She saved the life of this boy once, he should be grateful. She has a nasty scar across her face because of it, yet he does not care.

Carolyn stares at the ground in front of her again, boredom creeping into her mind like poison. She can't take it any longer. "Fine, what do you want to know?" Her voice breaks the barrier between them.

In the dark Carolyn cannot see Nirvana smile, but she can see his teeth gleam bright white in the darkness. "Got any family?" Nirvana asks her, those pearly white teeth irritating to Carolyn's eyes.

Carolyn rolls her eyes despite the darkness at this unexpected question. This whole thing is reminding her of when Weiss tried to interrogate her when they were sent hunting. She growls at the memory, she needs to get out of these binds, she needs to hunt the pretty girl from One down now the alliance is over.

"A father and a mother, and a younger sister." Carolyn lets out.

"Tell me about your sister," the questions continue.

Carolyn searches back in her memory and is almost ashamed at what she finds. In truth, she knows barely anything about her little sister. About her family really. "I had her best friend sentenced to death," Carolyn replies bluntly. "Then I watched and she did too."

Nirvana bursts out into shocked laughter, the unexpected gruesomeness to the story. "What are you, a psychopath?" Nirvana asks her, she can tell he is still grinning.

"No," she replies. "He stole from my family so it was only fair." Something about the bluntness of Carolyn's voice gets Nirvana to stop laughing. Instead, he decides to change subjects.

"Who was the boy you kissed during your goodbyes?" Nirvana asks. Is Carolyn wrong? Or does she detect a hint of jealousy on his lips? She glares at the ground, glad of the darkness and that Nirvana cannot see her face.

"Tony. He's training to volunteer." Carolyn gives no more away, speaking from behind her teeth she tries to make her voice sound sweet. She cannot tell if it is working or not.

"Is he your boyfriend?" Nirvana asks. Carolyn blushes despite her best efforts to stop and is immensely glad the cameras cannot see. Or maybe they can, that though only gets her to go redder.

"No, he's not." Carolyn's voice is flat and final.

Nirvana's teeth gleam again in the night.

* * *

Authors note:

Have your predictions for the final eight changed? It is all about to kick off, in the Games and Capitol alike.

May the odds be ever in your favor,

And,

Thank you for your sacrifice.

* * *

Eulogies:

 **n/a**

* * *

Sponsoring Information:

Sponsoring is now open to your Tributes, or any Tributes that you would like to sponsor.

To Sponsor please stay active on the story and then PM me following this form;

Who would you like to Sponsor?

What would you like to Sponsor them?

Why do they deserve the item?

How could they use it to win?

What has been your favorite moment so far inside of the story?

As the Games ramp up I would like an increased level of detail to your answers :) And the reviews you have previously left will be factored in.

* * *

 **The fallen:**

 **24th: Flint Fraser, 13, District 12. Killed by Blake. Created by iridescenteverdeen. Flint became one of my favorite characters and I shed some tears thinking that he had to go. He was just too young and too scrawny. His persistence optimism followed him to the end and I'll miss him.**

 **23rd: Pricilla Winters, 15, District 12. Killed by Carolyn. Created by Mewkitcat. Pricilla fought to the end, her fear leading her to turn on those she probably could have trusted. Her family will miss her deeply, its almost fitting that she followed her District Partner out.**

 **22nd: Weft Loomis, 15, District 8. Killed by Ace. Created by destiny's sweet melody. Weft has a hard life, he had a solid plan but unfortunately was carried away by talk of alliances and those he trusted. His interview will be remembered as one of the best and his quirky sarcasm will be missed. He's with his mother and sister now.**

 **21st: Cole Rockweld, 15, District 9. Killed by Cassia. Created by The-Moth-God. Cole was a Tribute I think many expected to go far inside the Games. He almost did, but the true worth of alliances was shown at his expense. Cole did not go easily and he will leave his mark in the Games with the injuries he inflicted on Ace. He died fighting, Barrick can be proud of that.**

 **20th: Trafalgar Zaun, 15, District 10. Killed by Weiss. Created by 66samvr. Trav, they were different from any other Tribute I have seen before. They were so interesting to write and almost made it away. They can find solace in the friend they made in Eva, the true acceptance of their identity she had. But it is a bittersweet ending.**

 **19th: Eva Brath, 14, District 10. Killed by Esme. Created by Team Shadow. Eva was never designed to win these Games and I think most people saw that. I added a lot of backstory to this Tribute myself and she will always have a special spot. She can be with her sisters and father now, the hope that her youngest sister is not reaped will live on with the Capitol. That's all she ever wanted.**

 **18th: Violet Mercury, 14, District 8. Killed by Blake. Created by Booklovin'03. Violet, like Eva was never meant to win these Games. I think she knew that too. I think she would be okay with that, she wasn't sure if she wanted to win. Jasper will surely mourn her and her death will affect the District. It just wasn't meant to be.**

 **17th: Harvest Kohl, 15, District 11. Killed by a mutt. Created by curiousclove. Harvest was a special Tribute, so pure at heart and trying to be positive he just wanted to protect his crush. He sacrificed himself for her, even if he did not realize it at the moment and Poppy will surely be devastated. His memory will live on, and the courageous actions that he left. I think he would be happy, Poppy told him how she felt and they we're able to share a moment. I'll miss writing you Harvest, you and Poppy we're so cute together.**

 **16th: Kalista Stone, 17, District 9. Killed by Oliver. Created by The Girl With The Knives. Kalista's death was so hard for me to write, the reason for me balling my eyes out late at night. Shes a Tribute I got attached to but never really managed to spread that attraction. Her death is going to devastate Oliver and impact his Games forward. She could have made it so much further. Never getting to show off all of the skill and potential the Gamemakers saw in her. She's a Tribute I will miss deeply.**

 **15th: Blake Calloun, 17, District 4. Killed by Poppy. Created by 66samvr. Blake, you are the Tribute that we all loved to hate. But you will be missed, your complete lack of empathy and self-centered behavior was very fun to write and you were one of the most real Tributes inside of the Games. I know your character ended pretty far off of what 66samvr originally intended every story needs a villain and Blake, you did a very good job. I also think its a little funny. Blake, a Career, ended up being killed by one of the weakest Tributes.**

 **14th: Talia Lancaster, 15, District 3. Killed by a mutt. Created by FrostyShadow. Talia, you were too pure and soft for these Games. In your complete trust of Callum, you forgot that sometimes the fight or flight instinct cannot be helped. And sometimes intentions are not kept no matter how well intended they are. I'm sorry your death was so gruesome, but the Capitol is starting to need a bit of a show. I'll miss your innocence and your story. I hope you're painting pictures from the beyond at the moment. Rooting Callum on.**

 **13th: Caroline Hollyhock, 17, District 5. Killed by Jerry. Created by jaded-love-pure-hate. Caroline, you were another character that we all loved to hate. You just wanted to keep your baby alive and ended up regretting the biggest decision of your life. I don't think that you were an honestly bad person, you just tried to do what you could to stay alive and keep your baby alive. Immoral maybe, but I don't think you truly had malicious intent. It's funny how karma catches up though.**

 **12th: Willow Ashes, 16, District 7. Killed by Carolyn. Created by Team Shadow. Willow you certainley had a journey. I'm glad you were able to come into your own for a bit at the end there even if you did not get away quite in time. I'm sorry about that. You were one fun charector to write that just wound up in a bad situation. You taunting the Careers was one of the funnest scenes that I have written and I will miss that from you.**

 **11th: Oliver Apollo, 17, District 5. Killed by Weiss. Created by StephenSwiss. Ollie, you were a good man. You tried to stay true to yourself at the end and ultimately you just lost the plot a little bit. Everyone experiences death differently and for Ollie, it pushed him over the edge. Its a bittersweet ending for Ollie, he finally has escaped the present that he hated so much. Yet he has lost his opportunity for a future. He will be missed.**


	48. Eve Of Change

**Ziva Crimson, 27, The Capitol.**

Walking out into the living room of her mansion, Ziva spots Bastion. Sprawled out on the plush white couch. An arm is wrapped around Coraline's waist, they're breaths synced together. It has been a long night for all of them.

Ziva feels bad when she shakes Bastions shoulder, his lips letting out a gurgle of distaste. But when they open and he sees whos eyes meet his he quietens. Softley, he removes Coraline's arm. Trying to be gentle, he does not want to wake her.

It's tedious, but he manages it. Her breathes stay in constant rhythm as he gets up. Gesturing to Ziva he follows her out of the room. She leads him down the hallway, to a room across that he usually spends with Coraline. Ziva sees his cheeks redden when they get there, embarrassed at falling asleep on the couch.

Ziva does not care where he sleeps. She has a whirlwind of other thoughts cascading through her mind. "No one died today," Ziva's voice is not chiding. It's not sad. It's an emotionless that seeps into the very bones of the very building that they stand in. Seeps back to a time long forgotten.

Bastion smiles grimly, his brows furrowing together. "Tomorrow we will get to the final eight," he replies simply. He taps his foot on the ground nervously. _Tomorrow._ It feels a lifetime away for Ziva. _Is it really possible that they could escape?_

"Pax could not stop shaking today, I almost sent him home." Bastion tells Ziva, she almost wants to laugh. It's true the only reason he is helping them is the unpaid debt, a debt that may cost him his life.

"Isiah wanted to tail him for tomorrow but I told him he couldn't. He needs to stay with us." Ziva's grin turns into a frown. She knows that it would be smarter to keep Pax on track. But she also knows that is the much more dangerous mission. She's not prepared to let Isiah get stuck in the crossfire, the man means far too much to her than that.

Ziva sees Bastion gnawing on his bottom lip. She looks over at him expectantly and in turn, he glances over his shoulder. Ziva knows without having to ask that he is looking to where Coraline sleeps. "What is it?" There is suddenly a trickling sensation in her stomach.

"What if I went with Pax?"

Ziva squeezes her lips together, biting down. "To rescue the Tributes?" She already knows what Bastions answer is going to be. She's seen it since the cloudy look in his eyes appeared when Ace revealed his infection.

She stares at the man who she has very quickly gotten to know. The man that has become apart of her family she lost. She stares in the same direction as him, picturing the portrait of her parents resting in the sitting room. Watching over them as they hatched their plans. Watching over them now.

"What about Coraline?" Ziva asks, swallowing a lump that has very quickly formed in her throat. Bastion looks uncomfortable, rubbing the back of his neck he turns his back to where his love sleeps.

"Would you look after her for me?" Bastions voice breaks at the double meaning this question holds. He looks down quickly, rubbing something from the corner of his eye. Ziva pretends not to notice.

"I will," Ziva promises.

A silence descends between the two of them, thick as smog. Then Ziva speaks, "are you sure you're willing to risk giving this up?" She asks, wiping hotspots from the corner of her eyes. Her stomach has steadily declined throughout their conversation.

Bastion takes a deep breath, his Adam's apple protruding to an almost unnatural level as he tries to swallow past the lump in his throat. It's the size of a golf ball. "It's not just about Ace," Bastion chokes out. He has to stop to try and control his emotions. Ziva gives him time.

"I am not a good person. I killed seven people. Now I have the chance to rescue the same. To save their lives. Maybe that won't make me perfect. Hell, I know it won't. But maybe it will help me sleep better at night. Maybe it will make me feel like I deserve what I and Coraline have." Bastion has to stop talking, tears falling down his cheeks.

"Okay," Ziva replies. Quickly she takes a step forward, embracing the man in a hug he hugs her back with all his might. The connection is stronger than the brief time they have known each other. It promises the deep friendship they have already been able to kindle. One that could run for eternity. An eternity both are teetering on the edge of falling into.

"Go," Ziva tells him as tears dance at the corners of both of their vision.

Bastion glances a final time at Ziva, not knowing when they will meet again. She has appointments and final touches to their escape plan to work out. He has to be up early to get to the Gamemakers Center and start the interview process. The families of the top ten are all interviewed, the two who are next to die will be cut. It's a cruel process, but it means that the recordings will be ready straight for the final eight to hit.

Ziva does not want to think about this. When Bastions footfalls can no longer be heard outside of the room she sneaks out of its comfort. Walking the opposite way down the hall she enters the master bedroom.

Not bothering to turn on any lights she slips into the bed next to a sleeping figure. The figure groans in a way not unlike Bastion when he was first woken. The figures turquoise eyes open slowly, the corners of her cheeks pulled up in a smile.

"Hey," Anya mumbles, shifting over she wraps Ziva in a hug. She does not need to know what's wrong with Ziva, just that she will try and make it bearable. Ziva looks back at her. A love burning between them it's to erupt.

"I love you," Ziva replies. Needing to get the words from her heart to her lips.

Understanding flickers on the surface of Anya's vision. "I love you too," she replies as the two women collide into a kiss.


	49. Lust and Longing (GAMES - DAY 7)

**Weiss Forge, 18, District 1.**

Weiss groans in pain as she rolls over in her cot, the large wound up her side scraping against the coarse fabric. _This has all gone to shit._ She thinks to herself. Right now, she should have incited something worth the history books.

Instead, she is lying still as her side starts to scab over into an itchy mess. Her plan has failed and it is only a matter of time before everything she has created implodes even further into her face. _If Ace and Esme come back and expose me that would be the end._ The thought sends a wave of cold water through Weiss's veins. _I can't let that happen._

Out of the corner of her vision, Weiss can hear two people talking in hushed voices. _Cassia and Nate._ The thought of them causes her lip to curl up in distaste. They are too cute. They are forgetting that one of them will have to die for the other to go home. _Not that either of them will make it,_ Weiss intends for only one Victor to go home. One willing to make the big moves.

Stretching her hand out Weiss can just feel the cool bite of a metallic blade on her fingertips. A small dagger rests here. She noticed it when the pair dropped her when she stumbled back toward them. She wasn't sure if she would be able to grab it. Stretching out her fingertips she closes the distance, grasping the cool blade with a warm hand she smiles softly to herself as she slips it underneath the blanket the pair has placed over the top of her.

Despite the blanket, Weiss starts to shiver. The Gamemakers have dropped the temperature of the arena. It seems that they are at a constant battle. Weiss cannot remember a constant since she was dropped in these Games. _How long ago was it?_ Her mind swirls as dizziness from her injury overcomes her.

Squeezing her eyes closed starbursts dot her vision. She squeezes them tighter and the blackness seems to expand inside of her mind. It's almost a three-dimensional shape. Her heart pounding, she pries her eyes open. She has started panting.

Her gash aches, her shirt has become a bloody mess. Sticky to the touch the red liquid coats her fingers and arms from where she wrapped them around herself to get back to the others. No fancy Sponsors for her. She knew that she needed to get back to the others for protection. But what once was protection could turn deadly if the truth was to be found out.

The blade seems to thrum inside of her palm. Weiss makes a mental image of what is hidden beneath the blankets. _I want to go down in the history books._ She thinks about what her father would tell her to do. But his image is fuzzy inside of her mind. _He only got four kills._ He will not go down in History the way she longs to.

Glancing over to where the couple sits out of the edge of her vision Weiss realizes that there is a decision that she will have to make. _Is she ready to take on the two biggest threats of the Games?_

 **Nirvana Ivanov, 18, District 7.**

Nirvana watches Carolyn sleep. He watches as she inhales, a golden hair caught on her lip. When she exhales it fans out in front of her, only to be sucked in again on her next breath. He's not sure why the movement fascinates him so much. But it does, he can't make himself stop looking. Not even when Carolyn's eyes open and he is faced with their world of blue.

She stares at him while he stares at her, their breaths syncing together into a beat as they wake with the arena. Nirvana is fixated on her lips. Carolyn is fixated on his face. Or, from what Nirvana can tell she is. He can see as her eyes flicker around him, they soak each other up. It seems this new dawn has unearthed an underlying tension. One that started when Carolyn spared him at the bloodbath.

He reaches down softly, so not to startle her. Using fingertips gentle as feathers he brushes the strand of hair off of her lip. Her eyes do not stray from his fingers. He leaves his fingers on her chin for a moment, cupping her face under his he stares as the scar that she put on herself for him. Underneath his fingertips miniature fireworks seem to be set off.

He removes his hand. Staring not at Carolyn, but instead at the ropes that he tied to bound her. It was her own Sponsor gift that was so perfect for him to use. He can see red patches where her skin has almost been warned raw from the rope. Something shifts inside of him, something he never registered with Willow.

With Willow, she was merely a conquest. Being able to brag that he had made love on a Capitol bed was something too good not to try. She fell right into his spell. But now. Now he has someone he cannot manipulate. Someone foreign and dangerous. Someone who could kill him without a second thought. The idea of this sends a pulsing through Nirvana's body. He feels more in this moment than he ever did with Willow.

Staring back into Carolyn's eyes he realizes that he needs an answer to his earlier question. An honest one. "Why did you save me at the bloodbath?" His voice is husky, their faces still close enough together that their breaths are combining together. A warmth taking over both of their faces.

"Because you're cute," Carolyn's voice echos a previous conversation Nirvana had with Willow.

" _What were you doing with the girl from District 4?"_

" _Flirting,"_

 _Carolyn was listening._ Nirvana's eyebrows raise slightly. This girl who he thought would be first to get at him at the bloodbath ended up saving his life. Why? Because he thought to wind both her and Willow up one training. A grin spreads to his cheeks.

"The Careers were destined to fail from the beginning, so I realized I had to branch out. I made the plan to synch up with you on my last night of the Capitol, with my mentor Alice." Carolyn continues to explain. Nirvana listens intently, but his eyes are focused on her lips.

"I didn't expect you to be so stupid at the bloodbath. But then again I should not have been surprised coming from you." Carolyn's voice continues to fill up the silence of the cave, slightly raspy from lack of water. Nirvana knows that he should fetch her some, but he can't move. Her lips have entrapped him.

"Nate was complaining that you whispered something to Cassia. But wouldn't tell us what you said, care to share?" Carolyn's voice has dropped an octave.

"I told her what I'd like to do to her," NIavana growls back, leaning his body closer.

"Oh, really?" Carolyn whispers.

"Really," Nirvana replies.

"And what is it you'd like to do to her?" Carolyn's voice has gone almost as husky as his.

"About what I'd want to do to you," Nirvana's hand reaches out to Carolyn's waist. Keeping it there he pulls her closer, so he is staring directly into her eyes.

"Prove it," her voice is a growl to match his.

 **Callum Lennon, 18, District 3.**

Callum stumbles through the woods. Tripping over his own feet he has been stumbling since he was attacked last night. His assailant ran off, only after they had plunged a dagger through his collar bone. It still juts out, warm blood greeting it.

He got the assailant back, bringing his spear up he plunged it underneath their ribcage. He doesn't know how badly he injured them. Only that he wanted to run away before the pain and the darkness became unbearable.

There are two kinds of pain to be felt inside of these Games.

The pain of injury.

And the pain of losing someone.

Callum is battling them both and tears threaten his vision at each turn. He stumbles yet again, only this time he cannot regain his feet. He goes crashing down to the forest floor. He does not notice the way that the sunlight beams down to the forest floor, surrounding him in rays of golden light.

Nor does he notice the silver parachute that is bathed in one of these golden hues. Nor does he notice the way the blood seems to have slowed to more of a tickle. No, he notices none of this because he is lost inside of his mind.

 _The pain of an injury is nothing compared to the pain of the heart._ The thought came to his absent mind and now he cannot shake it. Tears start to spill as he thinks of Talia. How he abandoned her and caused her death. _If I hadn't abandoned her she would still be alive._ The thought has been at the back of Callum's mind since the moment happened. He wasn't going to let it break him. He was going to stay strong for her.

 _The bastard took her eyes,_ Callum cannot hold back anymore. Sobs wreck his body as the silver parachute hits the ground mear meters from him. But he does not look up. Only down at the darkness that seems to have descended over him.

It is only when another shadow breaks through the golden light does he look up. Into the eyes of another Tribute.

 **Cassia Slander, 16, District 2.**

"You do know we can't both win these Games, right?" Cassia asks Nate as the two of them sit in the sun outside of the cornucopia. She doesn't know where the thought came from, it is not something that should be vocalized in how volatile a situation this arena has become. But now she's said it she can't take it back.

Nate looks back at her with a stormy expression. "I know," he tells her. His voice sounding emotionless his eyes fixed on the mountains behind Cassia and not her face. He can't bring himself to meet her eyes. But she forces him to. Cassia shifts her body so it is in Nates line of sight. A determined expression on her face.

"I've been thinking,' Cassia tells Nate. His heart sinks in time with hers. But neither mention it to the other. Cassia's heart is beating as fast as a bird. Nates as fast as a cheetah. "Do you remember when you found me after I was given the note from my parents?"

Cassia does not care if she gets some Capitol high ups in trouble by admitting that her parents were able to get a message with her. _Get the two head trainers in trouble. See what I care._ "Of course", Nate replies. One of his hands reaching out he grasps Cassias in his. She refuses to look down at where their fingers are connected.

"Well, I can't help but think about how if I make it home there's going to be no one to really care. Well, maybe apart from Orion but he hardly counts." Cassia can see the confusion on Nate's face. She can't remember if she ever told him about her and his trainer's history.

"Orion used to be my best friend before he came in here. Before he tortured. Before he maimed. Now I can't even look him in the eyes," Cassia admits this with a lump in her throat. He will hear her say this. But she can no longer let herself care. It is time to let all of her demons out.

"My brothers sold me to half the District and the other half will hate me after what I have done in these Games," Cassia continues on. Not letting tears spill from her vision. Instead, she focuses on keeping them in.

"You have a family. A real one that cares. Wouldn't it be better if you went back for them?"

A silence settles over Cassia and Nate at her final question. He tries to digest what she has said. "Maybe it's true I have a family, but I treated no one well. Milo would miss me but he would learn to move on," Nates excuses sound lame compared to Cassias.

"I could never kill you," he admits the one thing that has scared him the most.

"I couldn't kill you either," she admits back.

The two stare into each other's eyes, breaths mingling as they try to process the confessions that have just been conceded. Neither is willing to kill for the other. Both willing to die for each other. _When did District two become so dramatic?_

Nate leans forward then, taking Cassia off guard he presses his lips gently to her cheek. "Let's not think about that," he mumbles to her. Trying to hide the lump that matches hers inside of his throat.

"Let's just enjoy this."

 **Esme Layton, 17, District 6.**

"Ace, look!" Esme shirks as she looks toward the canopy above her. Trailing down a silver box falls, broken only by a parachute. Ace lifts his head from where he lies on the floor, shivers wracking his body. His shirt is stained with dark sweat stains that appeared overnight. Esme is not convinced that he got a wink of sleep.

Esme rushes over, grabbing the parachute while it is still partially in midair she rips it open. Inside, she finds a pale paste. She brings it to her nose, it smells unmistakably of the Capitol. Grinning like the Cheshire cat she practically skips over to Ace.

"It's got to be for your arm. It's just got to." She tells him before pulling his collar across. She tries not to notice the sweet stench that accompanies his flesh as she applies the paste as thick as possible. It soon smells like peppermint and chemicals. Ace's face is flushed in pain and he bites on the bottom of his lip.

Esme feels a bolt of panic tear through her body. _What if it was a trick and I just killed the boy I so desperately tried to protect?_ But then Ace's face relaxes. "What happened?" Esme asks out loud, fear making her throat close up slightly.

Ace smiles a crooked smile, "it's gone numb," He tells her. The grin gets bigger when he realizes something. Esme looks back at him, her eyes wide in alarm. "It's completely dead." Ace laughs. He gets shakily to his feet and shows Esme. His arm hangs loosely at his side. "Check this out," Ace states before he turns abruptly. Esme looks on in horror as the force causes Ace's arm to jolt forward and stomach into a nearby tree.

But this only causes Ace to laugh harder. "It's completely numb," he informs her yet again. Pulling it up with his right hand he lets his left drop again. Looking in amazement when yet again he cannot feel anything. For whatever reason, this triggers something within Esme.

A laugh bubbles from Esme's lips and Ace grins back at her. He raises one eyebrow and Esme can no longer keep a straight face. She breaks out into hysterical laughter. "What are we going to do with you?" She yells out, her eyes starting to water.

"At least I'm right-handed," Ace yells back. Lifting his left arm up again he smacks it gently into Esme. This only causes her to laugh harder. She pushes him away gently, tears starting to curve their ways down her muddy cheeks. Tears of laughter a relief and of just needing to let it all out.

They have been so trapped by the Careers they have not been able to express the bubble of emotion that has been expanding in their chests since the Games begin. Esme laughs and cries for the bloodbath. For the girl she killed. For the other she attacked.

Ace laughs for the near death he has faced. For the leadership, he has had to take. For the ones that he left back at home.

They both laugh for regret.

Their laughter causes a roaring in their ears after they became accustomed to the silence of the forest. She barely hears Ace as he yells out " it's tingling!" which only causes them to fall into another fit of giggles. And she misses when he yells out that he can move one of his fingers. She misses the lopsided grin on his face when he stares at her smiling figure.

But she doesn't miss the cannon that rings out.

 **Jerry Kapper, 15, District 6.**

"You again," Jerry mutters to the figure that he has found leaning against the tree. He looks to be in a bad way. His clothes covered with a layer of grime and his hair knotted with leaves and dirt. The only clean spot on his body is lines going down his face, lines that have been caused by his crying.

It's his noise which alerted Jerry to his position in the first place. Jerry's first instinct was to get away as quickly as possible. But thinking about how splintered the Career Pack is he decided to see who was causing the noise. In all honesty, he expected to see a Tribute on their deathbed. Not that this one isn't.

Jerry can see a knife jutting from just behind his collarbone. Dried blood coats his skin. Then Jerry eyes a parachute next to them. "Yo-you're the one that gave us water." The boy stammers out, wiping snot off of his nose he looks a mess.

"The very same," Jerry replies. Opening the parachute he sees a thin wire already threaded with a needle. It is obvious that it was intended for the boy-Callum. Jerry faces him. "We could use this," he holds the thread and needle up for the boy. "But there's no guarantee that they will hold. Most likely they'll end up coming out later or infection will get in," Jerry's eyebrow twitches ever so slightly at this. But Callum does not notice. He is staring at the parachute with a fixed wonder.

It takes Callum a few moments to realize that Jerry is waiting for him to answer. "What's our other option?" Callum stammers out, taking the chance of trusting this boy who has helped him before and seems to have been relatively unscathed by the Games.

Jerry smiles grimly. "We light a fire."

Jerry sees Callum trying to process this, then the boy's face goes blank and Jerry decides that he does not have the time to waste. "Stay here," Jerry tells Callum. _It's not like he can go anywhere else._ Before he walks off slightly, ducking down he acts like he is only picking up kindling to make the fire with.

While he picks the twigs with his left hand his right snakes into a hidden pocket inside of the hiking backpack that he stole off of Caroline. Inside are enough supplies to make sure the boy does not get an infection. But Jerry makes no attempt to show Callum these. Instead, he grasps out a vile the size of his pinky.

With shaking hands he takes the tiny cork off of the bottle and smiles as he smells a distinct scent. There's tiny text on the bottle _48_. Placing the cork back on tightly he continues to gather kindling before he goes back to where Callum rests against the tree. Jerry nods at him as he breathes fire to life in front of him.

Then Jerry grasps the dagger that has been attached to his belt. Callum looks wide-eyed as Jerry places the dagger to the flame. Leaving it there both of the boys watch as the blade turns from silver to a brilliant red and then to bright white. When Jerry is happy with the color of the blade he looks back over to Callum.

"This is going to hurt," he informs Callum. Callum nods, squeezing his eyes closed he prepares for the pain. Jerry takes this opportunity to coat the blade with the contents of the small vial, he crunches the glass underneath his boot after he is done, the blade barely hissing from the contact.

With a grin, Jerry rips the dagger out of Callum's shoulder. Blood spurts upward like a geyser, splattering over Jerry's face and upper body. Jerry wastes no time is pressing the almost molten blade to Callum. The boy screams a blood-curdling scream as his flesh sizzles underneath Jerry.

Jerry leaves it there long enough for the skin to blister before taking the blade away. He snaps it's still soft blade underneath his boot before he picks up the one that was embedded into Callum's shoulder. Taking a moment to look at it he tries to figure out if he can connect it to any other Tribute. No such luck.

Callum whimpers in pain from where Jerry stands. "Good luck," Jerry tells the boy before hoisting the hiking backpack over his shoulder again and continuing in the direction that he was going before he heard the boy crying.

He can hear Callum yelling out behind him but Jerry just continues walking, thinking instead of his own District and who is waiting there for him to come home. No, Callum will not die today. But if another Tribute does not kill him surely the poison will.

 **Carolyn Aquana, 17, District 4.**

Nirvana's body is pressed against hers as he wraps his limbs around her still bound body. What she cannot do with hers she makes up with the feeling of her lips against his. "Unbind me," she growls to Nirvana as she can feel him moving further down her body. His hands lingering on her hips.

He does as she says. Slowly, his fingers tangle around the knots that bind her limbs behind her back as she continues to press her lips against his chest. Following down she kisses the fabric around his thighs. He growls as she feels the rope loosen. Starting to flex her fingers pins and needles start to flow through her limbs.

Nirvana wastes no time. Pulling the rope off of her he flips her body over. Trapping Carolyn underneath his body he pins her newly free arms underneath his hands. "You're all mine," he tells her. Leaning down he starts to kiss her collarbone, moving down further she arches her back upward in pleasure.

He presses his lower body down against hers and she shudders underneath his weight. Feeling the pressure of him on top of her she tilts her head upward, kissing his forehead to get his attention from her chest. He stares at her with lust clouding his vision before the two's lips press together. She can feel his excitement throbbing in his veins as she attempts to pull her wrists from underneath his grasp.

He lets her get one out and she wastes no time in attempting to pull his shirt off. He stretches up, doing it for her his body is more muscular than she realized. Trailing her free hand over his abdomen she feels his muscles underneath her fingertips. She also feels the goosebumps that are left in her wake.

He releases her other hand, pulling her shirt off he starts to kiss her belly, moving his way down to her thighs. She wraps her body around his, pushing him upward she places his hands on her chest. He wraps his arms around her back as he kisses her neck, trying to leave his mark.

Carolyn mumbles excitedly as she sneaks a hand down towards their legs. Reaching down she starts to unfasten her belt. Nirvana kisses her harder. Once Carolyn gets her belt undone she pulls her trousers down. Making sure that Nirvana is preoccupied she slides an arm over his crotch.

He lowers his kisses, dipping to her collarbone again Carolyn feels a twinge of fear before she reaches into her underpants and a seam she made sure was loose at the start of the Games. Taking a deep breath she finds what she was looking for.

Closing her fist over the object she tilts Nirvana's face back up to hers. Panting he looks into her eyes. They are connected in a moment with such intimacy and passion. Nirvana reaches and tucks a stray strand of Carolyn's hair behind her ear. "You're gorgeous," he tells her, running a hand over her scar.

That's when she draws the razor blade against his neck.

His eyes widen for a moment as he struggles to grasp where the pain came from. Then he looks down to where he bleeds his life out, all over Carolyn. He struggles, reaching his hands up he wraps them around Carolyn neck and squeezes all he can.

The pain only lasts a moment for Carolyn, it disappears with Nirvana's strength. "You are cute," Carolyn tells him before she pushes his body off of his. He gurgles incoherently as she tries to wipe his blood off of her. "It's a shame you're such a dick."

Nirvana's cannon booms.

 **Nathaniel Mattingly 18, District 2.**

Nate shoots up with the sound of the cannon. Cassia does the same next to him and they both instinctively look back toward where Weiss was resting inside of the cornucopia. That is where she was resting.

They both see her tiptoeing up to them, a knife clutched in her hand.

Nate takes a moment to look at the situation before he grabs for the sword situated at his hip. Weiss screams out, propelling her body forward she collides with Cassia and the two girls go spilling onto the jagged rocks. Nate's heart leaps inside of his chest as he realizes that he cannot throw his sword without risking them both.

Scrambling down the rocks he tries to break them up. Cassia and Weiss's bodies are tangled together in a mix of rage and desperation and Nate watches as they claw at each other and yell. He leans in, desperately trying to claw at Weiss's body a knife slices across his fingers. Stumbling back he pulls off his shirt, wrapping it around the cut he tries to fight the panic threatening to consume him about the danger that Cassia is in.

That's when the ground starts to shake.

A small trembling at first neither girl was affected by it as Nate watched with wide eyes but it progressed faster and faster. It caught Nate off guard and his body tumbled onto the jagged rocks, his pants ripping and blood starting to burst from just above his knee. Desperately trying to look up Nate watches as cracks seem to separate the arena. Separate him from Cassia.

Yelling out Nate crawls on his hands and knees to try and get back to where he last saw the girls but his vision is shaking and a deafening roar has drowned out his cries. He watches as the mountains surrounding the cornucopia start to shoot out ash. Covering his mouth with hands Nate stumbles away, blind terror clouding his thoughts for the first time since he entered the arena he tries to get away.

Fighting back tears for having to leave Cassia behind.

 **Poppy Northrop, 15, District 11.**

The roaring of the mountains barely phases Poppy. She has been lying in a small ditch that she found. Ferns grow overtop of it and Harvest has been talking to her since she stumbled in after her altercation with the male Tribute. The one with the spear.

It slid underneath her ribcage, protruding upward Poppy felt a stabbing pain, unlike anything she had felt so far inside of the arena. That was until she took some of the pills that were supposed to be for Blake. The Tribute she killed. That was his name.

 _Poppy you have to patch up your wound,_ Harvest tells her. He's been telling her the same thing over and over for today. Like a broken record stuck on repeat. But Poppy has already tried, she has searched through all of the medicine that she took with her from the shore where she killed Blake. Nothing is of help to what she needs.

When the spear entered her something foul-smelling erupted with it. A smell that has not left her along with the pain. She still feels the pain, but now she's detached from it. The pills have done that. It's like she's watching another version of herself. The real one is floating above the arena, where the fireworks are that the Gamemakers are shooting off to celebrate reaching the final eight.

Well, they will be very soon.

Reaching into her pocket Poppy grasps the only thing of beauty that has managed to survive with her. The turquoise stone that she gifted Harvest on the beach. It seems like it was a million years ago now. The arena has a funny way of portraying time.

 _Poppy you have to patch up your wound,_ she can hear Harvests voice again. But she no longer has the energy to fully register it. Instead, her eyes are slipping closed.

It's nicer in the dark, Poppy can pretend that she is back home again. That her father is reading her and Harvest a story or telling them about the forgotten history. _Maybe that's how I ended up here. Someone found out about his story's._ Poppy thinks to herself, remembering rumors of the reapings being rigged.

But she does not have enough energy to keep this thought. She's almost done. She just has one thing she wants to do first. Still, with her eyes closed, she reaches out to where she imagines Harvest to be. She can feel the smooth skin of his face underneath her palm. "I love you Harvest." She mumbles.

 _I love you too._

* * *

Authors note:

Sorry, ya'll. School kicked back and times got extremely busy for good ol' Romeo who overcommits to everything. I have drama lines to memories for a performance in a week and a couple of assessments to do but I desperately needed to get this out. Please let me know what you think. Its also past midnight so sorry for grammer mistakes and such I'm tired and out of pratice.

I will be trying at least an update a week now. I got a new laptop so that will help me actually put stuff out.

May the odds be ever in your favor,

And,

Thank you for your sacrifice.

* * *

Eulogies:

 **10th: Nirvana Ivanov, 18, District 7. Killed by Carolyn. Created by BabyRue11. Nirvana you were a character I largely ran away with and loved to hate. Gosh, maybe you were a little less sleazy than Blake but you were pretty messed up too. You really did not expect to die when you did and I had a lot of fun writing about you. As weird as it sounds I'm really going to miss you.**

 **9th: Poppy Northrop, 15, District District 11. Killed by Callum. Created by curiousclove. God damn Poppy you did not have an easy ride. You and Harvest were so cute to write about and you two were so pure and god and it kills me to have to kill you. I'm proud of Poppy for taking out one of the biggest competitors inside of the Games and keeping on going despite loosing Harvest. I think you are happier now.**

* * *

Sponsoring Information:

Sponsoring is now open to your Tributes, or any Tributes that you would like to sponsor.

To Sponsor please stay active on the story and then PM me following this form;

Who would you like to Sponsor?

What would you like to Sponsor them?

Why do they deserve the item?

How could they use it to win?

What has been your favorite moment so far inside of the story?

As the Games ramp up I would like an increased level of detail to your answers :) And the reviews you have previously left will be factored in.

* * *

 **The fallen:**

 **24th: Flint Fraser, 13, District 12. Killed by Blake. Created by iridescenteverdeen. Flint became one of my favorite characters and I shed some tears thinking that he had to go. He was just too young and too scrawny. His persistence optimism followed him to the end and I'll miss him.**

 **23rd: Pricilla Winters, 15, District 12. Killed by Carolyn. Created by Mewkitcat. Pricilla fought to the end, her fear leading her to turn on those she probably could have trusted. Her family will miss her deeply, its almost fitting that she followed her District Partner out.**

 **22nd: Weft Loomis, 15, District 8. Killed by Ace. Created by destiny's sweet melody. Weft has a hard life, he had a solid plan but unfortunately was carried away by talk of alliances and those he trusted. His interview will be remembered as one of the best and his quirky sarcasm will be missed. He's with his mother and sister now.**

 **21st: Cole Rockweld, 15, District 9. Killed by Cassia. Created by The-Moth-God. Cole was a Tribute I think many expected to go far inside the Games. He almost did, but the true worth of alliances was shown at his expense. Cole did not go easily and he will leave his mark in the Games with the injuries he inflicted on Ace. He died fighting, Barrick can be proud of that.**

 **20th: Trafalgar Zaun, 15, District 10. Killed by Weiss. Created by 66samvr. Trav, they were different from any other Tribute I have seen before. They were so interesting to write and almost made it away. They can find solace in the friend they made in Eva, the true acceptance of their identity she had. But it is a bittersweet ending.**

 **19th: Eva Brath, 14, District 10. Killed by Esme. Created by Team Shadow. Eva was never designed to win these Games and I think most people saw that. I added a lot of backstory to this Tribute myself and she will always have a special spot. She can be with her sisters and father now, the hope that her youngest sister is not reaped will live on with the Capitol. That's all she ever wanted.**

 **18th: Violet Mercury, 14, District 8. Killed by Blake. Created by Booklovin'03. Violet, like Eva was never meant to win these Games. I think she knew that too. I think she would be okay with that, she wasn't sure if she wanted to win. Jasper will surely mourn her and her death will affect the District. It just wasn't meant to be.**

 **17th: Harvest Kohl, 15, District 11. Killed by a mutt. Created by curiousclove. Harvest was a special Tribute, so pure at heart and trying to be positive he just wanted to protect his crush. He sacrificed himself for her, even if he did not realize it at the moment and Poppy will surely be devastated. His memory will live on, and the courageous actions that he left. I think he would be happy, Poppy told him how she felt and they we're able to share a moment. I'll miss writing you Harvest, you and Poppy we're so cute together.**

 **16th: Kalista Stone, 17, District 9. Killed by Oliver. Created by The Girl With The Knives. Kalista's death was so hard for me to write, the reason for me balling my eyes out late at night. Shes a Tribute I got attached to but never really managed to spread that attraction. Her death is going to devastate Oliver and impact his Games forward. She could have made it so much further. Never getting to show off all of the skill and potential the Gamemakers saw in her. She's a Tribute I will miss deeply.**

 **15th: Blake Calloun, 17, District 4. Killed by Poppy. Created by 66samvr. Blake, you are the Tribute that we all loved to hate. But you will be missed, your complete lack of empathy and self-centered behavior was very fun to write and you were one of the most real Tributes inside of the Games. I know your character ended pretty far off of what 66samvr originally intended every story needs a villain and Blake, you did a very good job. I also think its a little funny. Blake, a Career, ended up being killed by one of the weakest Tributes.**

 **14th: Talia Lancaster, 15, District 3. Killed by a mutt. Created by FrostyShadow. Talia, you were too pure and soft for these Games. In your complete trust of Callum, you forgot that sometimes the fight or flight instinct cannot be helped. And sometimes intentions are not kept no matter how well intended they are. I'm sorry your death was so gruesome, but the Capitol is starting to need a bit of a show. I'll miss your innocence and your story. I hope you're painting pictures from the beyond at the moment. Rooting Callum on.**

 **13th: Caroline Hollyhock, 17, District 5. Killed by Jerry. Created by jaded-love-pure-hate. Caroline, you were another character that we all loved to hate. You just wanted to keep your baby alive and ended up regretting the biggest decision of your life. I don't think that you were an honestly bad person, you just tried to do what you could to stay alive and keep your baby alive. Immoral maybe, but I don't think you truly had malicious intent. It's funny how karma catches up though.**

 **12th: Willow Ashes, 16, District 7. Killed by Carolyn. Created by Team Shadow. Willow you certainley had a journey. I'm glad you were able to come into your own for a bit at the end there even if you did not get away quite in time. I'm sorry about that. You were one fun charector to write that just wound up in a bad situation. You taunting the Careers was one of the funnest scenes that I have written and I will miss that from you.**

 **11th: Oliver Apollo, 17, District 5. Killed by Weiss. Created by StephenSwiss. Ollie, you were a good man. You tried to stay true to yourself at the end and ultimately you just lost the plot a little bit. Everyone experiences death differently and for Ollie, it pushed him over the edge. Its a bittersweet ending for Ollie, he finally has escaped the present that he hated so much. Yet he has lost his opportunity for a future. He will be missed.**


	50. Shattered Glass

**Bastion Steele, 19, District 1.**

Bastion awakes to the feeling of Coraline beside him. He does not want to move. It's still dark. He can feel her warm body next to him, the way she radiates more than heat. The way she radiates comfort and clarity and everything that he strives to be. The way she is more beautiful than he could ever express. The way her past doesn't phase him.

He thinks back in his sleepy time to the day she told him why she became an Avox. Written out with shaky hands she explains how she recognized the boy from District Five - Oliver. How she was taken by the Peacekeepers on an ill fainted train ride. What profession she was in. How it's affected her now. Bastion does not mind her past, if she can forgive him then he has no right to judge hers.

But he does wonder.

He wonders how different both of their lives could have been if they did not grow up in a place like this. If Coraline wasn't forced into her profession by an aunt who wasn't willing to care for her. If she wasn't branded with the Trident on her wrist. If Bastion had never Volunteered. If there were no Games. If there was no Capital. How different could it have all been? Would they even have met?

Bastion knows deeply that they would of. Something like this, something that beats with electricity. Surely, they were destined to meet. It seems impossible that they weren't. It seems like they were made for each other. Despite the obstacles and despite the culture. They were destined to meet and to fall in love. To feel what they are feeling now.

From that first kiss with a newly appointed Victor. To the first night on the last night of a Victory tour. To sneaking away while a fresh lot of Tributes grace the carriage. To making his hands move in place of his lips just so that she can have that connection with him. Surely they were destined to be, it seems neither could fall for anyone else.

Bastion stretches a hand out, following the electricity to where Caroline's body lies next to his in bed. She moans softly, bringing a hand up she cups it over Bastions. He leans forward, placing butterfly soft kisses on her eyes he shivers from the electric touch.

Reaching over he turns on a bedside light. It emits just enough for Bastion to soak up Coraline's features. The golden tan over her body that hasn't left. The way her eyes are turquoise in the center then indigo on the edges. The way her lips are a couple of shades lighter than they should be for her skin tone. The way her golden hair fans out behind her body. The light scar on the bottom of her chin.

 _Do you really have to go with Pax?_ She asks him with her fingers. They slice through the air like little daggers. Bastion feels his heart clench as she finishes the movements. His stomach rolling like waves inside of the ocean.

 _I do,_ is all he can reply. Hands shaking almost too strong for the words to be comprehensible. Coraline looks at them with a torn face. Bastion knows that she knows why he feels so passionate about this. Why he _needs_ to do it. Why there is no other option for any of them.

 _I'm scared,_ Caroline tells him.

 _I am too,_ he admits. Cupping her chin with his hand he looks straight into her eyes. She looks back and they are locked for a moment of eternity. Bastion leans forward slowly, closing his eyes to match hers he presses his lips to hers. It's like firecrackers going off inside of his body. Fireworks made of all of the purest things in the world.

When they eventually break away, bodies sweaty and mouths panting. Bastion finds it impossible to think that he ever knew true love before meeting Coraline. _I have to go,_ he tells her. There is no way to be quiet in sign language, but if they were talking he would have said this in a whisper. Wanting her to not hear it and to be able to curl back in bed and wrap his body around hers once more.

But this isn't.

Caroline looks at him, emotion brimming through her ocean eyes. _When we meet again, we will both be free,_ she tells him. Bastion can only nod in reply.

 **Ziva Crimson, 27, The Capitol.**

As soon as Poppy Northrop dies the plan is set into motion. Before her body has had a chance to cool Ziva is running. Hands lined with Anya Ziva is running like she never has before. Flying down the candy-colored streets of the Capitol she feels how the wind whips through her hair like it never have been allowed before. She feels what it means for her legs to burn in pain. She feels what it means to love someone more than herself.

Turning a pastel corner dark class crunches over heavy boots as they continue on. Isaiah chattering into their earpieces he leads them toward the train tracks. They barely have to think of their path. Hoods pulled up they have faded into the disguise of being someone else. Being someone mundane. Lined hands are the only thing that set them apart from the rest. But no one else can see the humming of passion that has been lit between them.

It pulses through both of their veins. Leaving Ziva breathless for a whole different reason than the running. Looking into Anya's aqua eyes Ziva starts to fall in love all over again. She watches as Anya's body powers onward, dark colored skin and hair, cheekbones as sharp as a mans. A wild look inside of her eyes. She seems to radiate power, to radiate confidence that Ziva has never experienced in someone else before. She makes Ziva know that everything is going to be fine. That this plan has to work. How could it not with this powerful woman beside her?

Isaiah issues command's to Coraline and Adair as they run a separate route in a different section of the city. Powering onward they run adjacent to each other across the separate streets. Ziva's is as blue as seafoam. Coraline's is as pink as a baby's cheek. But a sense of urgency compels them all. A sense that these could be the last breaths that they ever take so god they want to make them count.

The power of taking their own fate flows through their veins like novacain and sends a high through all of them that would rival that of heroin. None of them get tired from the run. It's like something else entirely has taken over their bodies and left them floating on a cloud. Merely watching themselves run, not actively participating in it.

When they make it to the train tracks, bodies sweating and hearts pumping they feel larger than life. Like they have become something more than mere citizens. They are changing the course of the Capitol. Challenging the way that things have always been and suggesting- no, forcing, an alternative reality. One where no one gets left behind in a District to rot. One where 24 Tributes do not die inside of the arena.

When Isaiah Coraline and Adair meet back up with them at the train tracks Ziva glances down at her watch. Bastion should be making his way to the arena by now.

 **Aetius Valter, 54, The Capitol.**

When Aetius hears a commotion out of his vision he tenses up. Continuing to stare at the floor of the cell they have placed him in he refuses to let them see him crumble. His execution is scheduled for the finish of the Games. He knows from the screen on the wall that they have just hit the final eight.

It's not fear that courses through him at the idea his execution date could have been moved up. More a dull sense of relief. He has spent a lifetime inside of seven days in this cage. Having guards sneering at him and spitting in the food they serve as cold as dinner plates. The consistency is not better. Like chewing on china. Aetius will be almost happy to see it all go. Like he was returning to bed after a particularly hard day at the office.

He will die just like the girl from District Two's brother. He has still not bothered to remember the names. It is better if they are just numbers. You can't get attached that way. Can't make connections with a particularly pretty one. Can't rig it so that the favorite wins. No, if they are merely numbers bias does not get in the way.

Aetius has accepted that he may become a number soon.

That is until the scuffling gets louder and he finally stares up to a sight that could rival Christmas morning.

 **Bastion Steele, 19, District 1.**

Bastion had to lose the intercom inside of his ear. In a mission so dangerous it was too large of a risk for him to wear something that could so easily trace him back to the President. Back to the plan. They need all the advantages that they can get. One's Bastion is not confident in himself. All it takes is the thought of Coraline's safety for Bastion to stamp the earpiece underneath his boot. It cracks and splinters into tiny white pieces that blend in with the floor of his office.

He did not do it a moment too soon, for the next Pax comes rushing into his office. "It's time. We need to get to the hovercraft." Pax tells him hurriedly, sweat already starting to drip off his cheeks and down his neck. Bastion nods, getting up from his desk abruptly he spares no time in mourning the sterile room. There are too many cruelties associated with it.

Marching done the white tiles of the Game Making Center for the last time Bastion follows in the wake of the twitchy older man. Pax leads him right through the center of it all. Bastion smiles at those who try to gain his attention. Waving off assistants and those attempting to climb up the social ladder of the Capitol by befriending the Victor turned Citizen. He has always been repulsed by the way these people will latch onto anything they perceive to hold value. Human or object alike.

Pax leads Bastion down a corridor the younger man had not seen before. Opening a supplies cupboard he issues with a finger to his lips for Bastion to follow. With adrenaline flowing through his heart Bastion follows Pax. Squeezing through a too narrow opening he finds his hands on the rungs of a ladder. They carry him downwards, following the empty footsteps of Pax's boots. It becomes very dark very quickly.

"We have to hurry," Pax anxiously tells Bastion. He nods in reply without thinking and soon both of the men's boots are splashing down a dark tunnel.

 **Aetius Valter, 54, The Capitol.**

Aetius stares into the eyes of his longtime friend and advisor. Maverick. "What's going on?" Aetius asks. Forever the diplomat he keeps his voice emotionless. Not willing to let the excitement that is bubbling through his veins break the surface he is not ready to believe that the best is happening. Instead, he keeps the reality that this is the worst, that they have sent his childhood companion to execute him.

"Old school jailbreak," Maverick replies. Taking a gun out of his belt he shoots the lock that keeps Aetius trapped in a cage full of steel beams. The gunshot causes Aetius to jump, flashing him back to when he attempted to use one against himself. Only that one made an empty click, sending him to the cage. This one has enabled him to escape.

Aetius walks the paces to the doorway slowly, not quite believing reality to be it's own he expects to awake from an odd dream at a moments notice. He wants to pinch himself. But he is not prepared to let Maverick realize what he is feeling. Not if this has a chance of being a reality.

"Let's go," Maverick tells him roughly once Aetius takes his first step to freedom. Grabbing one of Aetius's forearms roughly Maverick pulls the larger man away from the jail cell which was to become his execution. He pulls him toward a different light.

Aetius stumbles over something warm. Grabbing onto a banister he keeps his body upright as he looks down. Into the eyes of a dead guard. A wound goes clearly from the left side of his temple into his right. Aetius smirks, it is the same one who would spit into his food. Who let Bastion and Isaiah take and beat him.

"Where are we going?" Aetius asks Maverick as they continue to make their way out of the building that almost became Aetius's last.

"The President's mansion,"

 **Bastion Steele, 19, District 1.**

Bastion can hear rats scuffling inside of the wall next to where he and Pax run. The older man is making good pace compared to a Victor and they now squelch through the water as high as their ankles. Occasionally, something will brush against Bastion. He tries not to think about what it could be. Instead, he focuses on the end goal.

"Up here," Pax pants. Leading Bastion around a split in the tracks they continue running through near darkness. Bastion can hear nothing but the rats in the walls and the pounding of his heart inside of his mind. He won't let himself think of Coraline. He won't let himself think of Ziva. He won't let himself think of the others and the safety that he could have been in.

"The door there," Pax tells Bastion. Taking on a burst of speed both of them men reach a rusty door at the same time. Bastion enters first, barely panting his eyes suddenly have to adjust to a blinding white light instead of the gloom of the tunnels. He can continue to hear Pax panting on the other side of the door and Bastion squints his eyes.

"There should be another ladder leading upwards. It will take us to where we are meeting the hovercraft." Pax explains through labored breaths. Bastion takes a step further into the room, his footsteps echoing eerily off of the white tiles. All around him Bastion can now see machinery humming steadily.

The further he enters the room the louder the room gets and after a handful of steps in he can barely near Pax panting anymore. Continuing to look for the promised ladder Bastion thinks that he can hear the door slamming closed.

He doesn't get the chance to look over his shoulder and back at it before something heavy bashes against his head.

Stars spinning in his vision Bastion is suddenly on the cold white floor. His brain cannot process what is happening. He was standing up a moment ago. He was looking for the ladder. The world lurches as he brings a hand upward. Blood. There is blood on his face.

A fuzzy shape comes into his vision. It takes him much too long to focus on it.

Pax.

In his hands, he carries something that Bastion cannot place. It's a piece of metal pipe. Bastion is sure that Pax was not carrying it a moment ago. "What-" Bastion starts, but the words barely leave his lips before the pipe is being lifted again.

He is unconscious before his head hits the floor.

 **Ziva Crimson, 27, The Capitol.**

Ziva paces back and forth. Something has been unsettling her. But she can't put her finger on what it is. There's a knot in her stomach that has refused to leave since she reached the train station. One as large as a tumor it sucks her up like cancer.

About an hour before the train arrives she realizes what it is.

"I left the portrait!" She cries out. This causes the other members of the group who were all sitting quietly to jump. Anya, who was sitting with her back against the station wall jumps into the air like an electric shock. Biting her lip on her decent back to earth blood trickles from the cut.

"I left the portrait of my parents at the Mansion." Ziva cannot believe she allowed herself his misstep. This oversight. This betrayal of those who raised her. She can imagine the picture perfectly inside of her mind. Her parents standing tall and proud together. The ones who ruled Panem without the weight on their shoulders. Without the guilt. The strongest people that Ziva has ever known.

"I have to go back for it," Ziva says frantically. Lurching across she starts to march back toward the rest of the Capitol.

"Ziva, wait!" Isaiah yells into the other stunned silence. He grabs her arm, pulling her back toward them. "It's too dangerous," Isaiah explains. He glances down to his watch."The breakout is scheduled for just over an hour and our train will be here just before that. You can't risk going back and missing it." Ziva can see the logic in what Isaiah is telling her. But her stomach churns. She will never be able to forgive herself if she leaves the last trace of her parents behind. Of the people who raised her and loved her. Of the people whose blood still runs through her veins.

"I have to," she chokes back. Shaving Isaiah's grip off of hers she tries not to meet anyone else's eyes. But Anya's catch hers.

"Please, please don't," Anya begs, marching over to Ziva she cups Ziva's face inside of her palms and stares her directly in the eyes. "Please don't go." She begs, her voice cracking and tears swirling on the edge of her vision.

Ziva's blood runs cold. Could she really risk everything she has achieved so far for a picture? But it stares at her from her memory. The faces of her parents who she knows she will forget if she has nothing tangible to hold onto. The ones whose voices and mannerisms she can no longer remember. She has no option. She can't have an option.

"I'm going," Ziva whispers as she watches Anya's face immediately fall.

"Then I'm going with you," it is Adair who makes the offer.

Ziva looks at him for a moment, locking eyes with the lesser known Victor she realizes that she does not have time to argue. "Let's go," she tells him as she turns her back on Anya. The two start to run off, but a grip to Ziva's arm stops them.

Ziva turns back to see Anya. "I love you," is all Anya can stutter out.

"I love you more."

"Then stay,"

Ziva takes a deep breath. The pictures of her parents burning into her eyelids. "I have my whole life to love you. I need to do this for them." Ziva tells Anya, unable to meet Anya's eyes. Anya does not reply, but the pressure drops from her arm all the same.

 **Aetius Valter, 54, The Capitol.**

Stumbling into the President's mansion the door has been left unlocked. Anger courses through Aetius mind. They could be too late. But a smile replaces it as he struts through the rest of the home. Eyeing half empty glasses left on tables and Avox's left off duty.

Tramping through the rooms he makes it to the large sitting room. On the table in the center lies all of the arena plans. Aetius feels a growl start in the back of his throat. Stamping over he picks up the plans and looks at where notes have been hastily scrawled over the top of them. Aetius looks back to Maverick.

"Did you know about all of this?"

Maverick nods. "The only plan that isn't clear is how they plan to escape the city. We have people going to all of the options now. Every train station and landing pad will be swarming with Peacekeepers within the hour."

"Why is it taking so long?"

"We had to be sure, what you are holding right now is the proof. More than Pax's word could get us anyway. I'm sure you will know that it is not wise to trust a man who appears to have no other options." Maverick explains, glancing to the plans that Aetius holds partially balled up inside of his hands.

Aetius drops the plans. Suddenly feeling dirty. Feeling used.

He growls when he spots a portrait of the President's parents smiling gleefully at him. Grasping for a glass half full of water he lobs it toward the painting. The glass shatters, cascading like raindrops over the faces and wetting the heavily painted material.

It's not enough for Aetius though.

Walking into the kitchen like he owns the place he hunts through perfectly organized drawers. Turning on the stove top to its highest setting he places paper towels directly onto the surface. It only takes a moment before he starts to smell the burning. A moment longer for the smoke starts. Then a moment after that for the first flames to erupt.

He throws a couple of hand towels on top of the paper ones before walking out of the kitchen. Maverick looks at him with a confused glance as the flames start to lick at the kitchen. The two stare at each other for a moment before the house erupts into a blearing drone caused by whatever fire alarm system was installed by the Capitol.

Aetius is lucky the President cherished the older architecture of the home. There are no automatic sprinkler systems installed. Smoke starts to billow out of the kitchen and Aetius can hear popping sounds as cans are exposed to the flames. The two stand next to each other in the living room as the smoke gets thicker in the air.

Wordlessly they walk toward the door together, staring ahead and out of the glass paneling they make their way out and into the nightfall. That is until Aetius spots something moving in the corner of the bushes.

 **Ziva Crimson, 27, The Capitol.**

Ziva has to cover her mouth with her hand when she sees who is appearing from the flames of what once was her home. Her first instinct is to run like a demon himself exists with the flames lighting his back.

Aetius.

Adair tenses up beside her, his bulky frame leaning over hers protective he pulls her down and back toward some bushes that hug the edge of the property. Ones that Isaiah hated because it meant that he was not properly able to see the fence line.

Ziva watches as Aetius yells out, pointing in the bushes that she now hides inside of Adair's breaths become shallow. "You have to run," Adair tells her. Forcefully shoving her behind himself. But Ziva's eyes are locked on an object clutched in Aetius's hand. A gun.

"On three you run," Adair tells her. His voice getting more stained. She can see the way his muscles tense like he is back in the Games. She doesn't know what his kill count was.

"One," Aetius is taking another step forward. Gun clutched between both hands he points it slightly high. It would go over top of where Ziva and Adair now crouch. His face is hard, it shows a cold determination.

"Two," Aetius is another step forward. His gun pointing at where Ziva was before Adair pushed her back. He moves his thumb, pulling the pin at the top of the back he is making it ready to fire. His teeth gleam from a sneer.

"Three!" Adair yells at the top of his lungs. Leaping from the bushes he runs directly toward Aetius who is momentarily frozen in shock. Ziva doesn't look back, leaping to her feet she streams as fast as she can in the opposite way from where the boys are now fighting.

 **Aetius Valter, 54, The Capitol.**

Aetius yells out as a burly figure lands on top of his, the gun falling out of his grip he jabs a finger upward. Hitting the man directly in the eye something squirts down onto Aetius's face but he ignores it. The man now has his hands to Aetius throat.

He hears a gunshot above him, but it does nothing to stop the pressure that he now feels. He tries to find the other eye. To try and disable it too but the hands are too strong for even Aetius and he feels the air slowly leaving his lungs. Smokes start to sting his mouth despite the grip as he desperately tries to grasp for anything.

The man squeezes harder. Aetius can feel blood vessels popping in his neck as he claws desperately at the man. Who, now in the burning light of the mansion, he recognizes as the only Victor from District Twelve. He wants to scream obscenities at this man and at the President and at all of Panem for letting this happen.

The air is leaving Aetius lungs and nothing is replacing it as he claws desperately at anything that he can. He starts to feel his mind go dizzy. The world swirling around him he feels a jolt of adrenaline and fights harder. Then the grip on his neck goes loose. It is accompanied by the sound of a gunshot.

Blood splatters Aetius's face as he gasps desperately to get his breath back, hot blood from the Victor trickling down his throat. "Get up," Maverick tells Aetius harshly. He does as he's told, pushing the now dead Victors body off of his he gets to his feet.

"She went that way."

 **Ziva Crimson, 27, The Capitol.**

Ziva stumbles through the darkness past the burning mansion. Tears threatening to fall down her eyes she tries to un-hear the second gunshot. Adair did not have the gun. His hands were full of Aetius's neck. She tries not to see the image of the Victor inside of her mind. But in truth, it is all that comes to her. She took him back here. It is her fault she is dead. Her that has ruined everything.

A jarring pain comes from her right calf, just above the ankle. She is leaving a trail of blood. When she used to watch the Tributes inside of the arena she always emphasized with the pain that they would feel when injured by others. Yet she never truly understood what it was like to feel pain so great it is like she is beings set on fire from the inside out.

Now she does.

She is not sure how the plan could have gone so wrong. They were all set in motion. Someone must have released Aetius. Ziva did not get a good look at the man who was standing next to him, managing to find a shadow to sink into despite the burning building. But Ziva has her guesses. They never should have trusted anyone outside of the circle. Let alone someone bought.

The pain is almost too great for Ziva to continue moving. _I'll just rest for a moment_ , she tells herself. Behind her eyelids, a voice that sounds strangely familiar tells her to keep going. "Mom?" She wonders out loud.

 _You're doing so well honey, please keep going._ The voice tells her. She hasn't heard that voice in years. But she would recognize it anywhere. It pushes her back to her feet and sends her catering through the woods with a new sense of passion. Another voice joins it. _I am so proud of what you have done for the Nation. Now it's time for you to go._ It's her father pushing her on inside of her mind.

Ziva digs deeper, continuing deeper through the streets that she ran so easily earlier she finds the whole place deserted. No longer worried about keeping stealthy she only wants to find an escape. To get away from the man with the gun.

Its as if this thought calls him to get.

Another gunshot ripples out into the night and Ziva feels an impact to her shoulder which causes her body to topple over. _Keep going honey, you've got to get out of here, h_ er parents scream at her. Encased in the immortality of memory.

But Ziva can't keep going. The pain is too intense and she sees dark patches over her vision and god it hurts. It hurts like nothing she has ever felt before. It hurts more than when she found out her parents had died. It hurts more than sending Tributes into the arena again and again. It hurts more than the thought of never seeing Anya again.

She tries to keep her eyes open. But they seem to be burning holes into her skull. The pressure and pain continuing to darken her vision. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see some strangely colored shoes of Capitol Residents leaving their homes to see what all the commotion is about now the shots have stopped.

She cannot see Aetius, but she can hear his heavy breathing. Or maybe it is her own. Her eyes get heavier and heavier and she cannot open them anymore. The Capitol citizens scream morph into song inside of her mind.

A sweet sweet song, like the sound of a train leaving the station without her.


	51. Left Behind (FINAL EIGHT INTERVIEW)

**Aetius Valter, 54, The Capitol.**

Aetius sits in the very same glass box that Bastion did on the night before the Games. Where Bastion once sat now Pax does. Where Pax once sat now Maverick does. And where the President herself once sat, now Aetius does.

There is a roar of applause as Drusus Lionella enters the stage. In a glimmering suit, he struts like his trademark peacock, showering the people near him with kisses he grasps some of the most attractive one's hands. Planting fake kisses on even faker palms it all reeks of the desperation to be happy. To put on a false pretense.

Drusus eyes skitter around the room, higher than those near him. Aetius can also hear his heart skip a beat as it locks with his. Aetius nods once, coldly. Drusus's eye twitches. He is one of the few that know what is prepared for tonight.

"Welcome one and all!" Drusus yells out, settling himself into the same chair that he used to interview the Tributes. Only this time, an empty one stares back at him. "You are all in for a special treat tonight," Drusus teases the audience. They erupt into another round of applause, some trying to scream louder than each other to try and draw his attention. Drusus has to gesture with his hands to calm them, frantic energy has settled over the Capitol.

"Before we start our programme I would first like to welcome, as our official new President of Panem, Aetius Valter!" The room is practically alive with screaming and cheering. All residents trying to crane their necks to get a good look at the man.

He smiles back simply. It was easy to doctor the other deaths. To make it look like a rogue President had gone off the rails and attacked her own. Sent a hit order against old friends. Even older allies. There was no choice for the Capitol really, not with how fast everything happened.

And who seemed the most in control? Oh, no other than their falsely imprisoned Head Gamemaker. One thrown in prison for simply trying to tell the truth to his people. No, there was no contest. None at all.

"How's the dog doing?" Aetius asks Pax quietly, watching with a small smirk as Drusus tries to calm the now frantic crowd.

"Refusing to behave."

"I wouldn't expect anything less, break him, won't you?"

Pax nods, "tonight's programming should do just that."

Aetius does not reply, instead, turning his attention back to Drusus who has finally quietened the crowd. "Let's get tonight's show on the road!" Aetius addresses the crowd, he does not wait for the applause.

Instead, he clicks an almost hidden button inside of his suit jacket. Behind him, the girl Tribute from District One's face appears on the screen. Cheers break out from her fans as Drusus settles into his chair comfortably.

 **District One Female.**

"Let's bring out our first guest, Hannibal Forge!"

It's almost comical to see the well known Victor appear out of thin air next to Drusus. The projection fuzzy for a moment, then in the next it is like the man is sitting right next to Drusus. Hannibal's projection smiles on cue.

"So, Hannibal," Drusus starts, remembering the pre-recorded answers in his head before he asks the question. "How do you think Weiss is doing compared to when you were in the Games?"

Hannibal smiles, his eyes gleaming. "I think she's doing fantastic." Confidence radiates off of his very being, you never would have guessed that his daughter has been left on a cliffhanger. Lunging after Cassia that was when it was time for the volcano to blow. The last mark Ziva left on the arena.

Less than twelve hours later, Aetius now sits.

That's the thing about the Games. It could come down to the final two, but if they kept re-editing the footage the Capitol would never know. But they won't. Aetius is now sick of these Games that he once cherished so close to his heart.

"She's already killed two other Tributes. One expected to be a top competitor for the outliers. I'm very prepared for her to come home." Pride drips from his voice and he puffs his chest out, full of hope for his daughter.

Aetius rolls his eyes. Family has never been his thing. His first official act as President may have been for his security team to locate his son. But that was as much for appearance's sake as anything. It looks better for the new President to have his son by his side. Aetius scowls, _they really should have found him already._

The crowd erupts into applause, knocking his train of thoughts and planting a scowl on his face. It only takes a moment before another guest appears on the screen.

"Welcome, Rubie." Drusus soften his voice as a hush falls over the audience. In front of them, a young girl sits on the edge of her seat. Legs crossed she looks fragile as porcelain, and about as pretty as it too.

"How have you been feeling watching your big sister in the Games?" Drusus asks, drawing slightly forward in his seat he smiles broadly at the projection. He feels as fake as the Capitol in moments like this, everything is done for him. Merely an actor in a world of fake reality.

Rubie smiles. "I am so proud of her! I knew that she could make the top 8!" Ruby's cheeks flush to her name as she beams out toward the Capitol. Pride lighting up her features she looks like she is ready to leap into reality next to Drusus.

"I just wish she could come home sooner… I miss her," the little girl's show of innocence causes the Capitol citizens to erupt into cheers of sympathy. Shouting out encouragement to the projection they yell that they are supporting her struggle, that they are sure her sister will make it home, that they admire the pair.

Ruby waves off the audience, blowing kisses goodbye she fades from recognition to the applause of the Capitol. Wrapped around their finger. Just like what Weiss managed at the interviews. Drusus can't help but let the Capitol see him smile. She will make a very good Tribute when she follows familiar traditions.

Her body is replaced by an attractive young man. Who half smiles at the audience, boasting a crooked grin and slightly crooked teeth. He wears a very pretty silver suit. There is murmuring inside of the Capitol about this boy and who he could be.

"Blake Silver, you certainly are living up to your name," Drusus breaks the air.

Blake beams an over exaggerated smile back. "Glad to be here," he tells Drusus. His smile not reaching his eyes, but the Capitol is distracted by the prettiness of this boy to notice. Not fearsome. Not slim. But _pretty_. It's not what they are used to.

"So, Blake, tell us a little about what it has been like to watch Weiss inside of the Games."

Blake swallows hard, running a calloused hand through his hair. "It's difficult," he admits, looking sheepishly beyond the camera. Out to whoever was with him at the time of the interview. "On one hand we are all routing and yelling for her to come home, but on the other…" Blake trails off, staring at the spot out of his vision.

"But on the other what?" Drusus leans forward in his seat, a lightness creeping over his voice.

"But on the other hand, it's horrible watching your best friend become someone she's not."

 **District One Male.**

Two adults appear on screen, seeming to sit next to each other in a too small interview chair they stare out at the Capitol with worried eyes. Their hands are linked, connecting each other while they are surrounded by such extremities. Such a different way of life. District One may be one of the most well looked after Districts, but they still have nothing compared to the Capitol.

"So, Mr. and Mrs. Platinum. What are you most proud of Ace accomplishing inside of his Games?

Spencer Platinum clears his throat, a rough sound, like crunching glass. "I'm most proud of Ace for staying neutral. When the boy from Two and Four was at each other's throats Ace stayed neutral in all that and diffuse the tension. That's what I'm most proud of him for." The audience erupts into cheers and a few chuckles, remembering the game of truth or dare that proved the catalyst for the alliance's defeat.

"I'm most proud of him for staying loyal to the girl," Natalia Platinum says softly. Her voice is almost missed by the audience. "No one expected him to stay so loyal to that girl. Especially when they don't seem to have a bond closer than friendship. I'm proud of my boy for that." Her voice breaks at the last word and she has to bury her face in the long sleeve of her husband's dark shirt. He lifts a hand, starting to comb his fingers through her hair to calm her down. A couple of residents yell out support at the two.

"And what do you think of their bond, think it could turn into something more?" Drusus makes his voice sympathetic but the lore of gossip lights his tone. The audience sits on the edge of their chairs, ready for the answer that has been on the back of the minds since the two started getting so close.

Spencer clears his throat, "Ace is deadly loyal. He would never hurt another. It's true that the two appear to have chemistry together-" the audience erupts into whispers. Spencer glares at them, "but I don't think he would do that to Tiffany. Actually, I know he wouldn't. That's not how we raised our boy." Spencer stops talking and stares directly at the invisible cameraman. After another moment, the couple disappears.

The next figure to appear is lanky, towering over Drusus he issues a charming smile to the audience. He's as pretty as the Tributes. Dark curler hair dances with his eyesight as he runs a hand through it self consciously, a crooked smile on his lips.

"So, Prince, tell us a bit about your and Ace's relationship." Drusus smiles as he goes to break the ice with this hologram, already knowing that the audience is going to lap the boy up.

Prince breaks into a toothy grin. Talking slightly too loudly he says, "I and Ace have been best mates since way back! I was originally meant to have his spot in these Games but an injury took me out of the running," Prince winks at the camera. "But it looks like he's doing a pretty bang up job out there. Already got chicks all over him." Prince bursts out laughing at his own joke. "But yeah, he's my best mate. I'm really proud of him. It's just time for him to come home."

The audience applauds the quick loud talking boy as he disappears. In his place, a beautiful young woman appears. She takes the audience's breath away for a moment, leaving a stunned silence as she smiles shyly to the camera. A ring on one of her fingers glimmers.

"So, Tiffany, how are you coping?" Drusus asks this with genuine compassion in his voice.

"It's hard," Tiffany's voice is soft as caramel, but as broken as the Capitol. "I miss him so much, every day when he's no here it's difficult. He's been my rock for so long. Now he's gone. With his injury… It's getting harder and harder to see him coming back to me, and that hurts more than anything." The sheer brokenness of this women gets tears falling from the Capitols eyes.

Tiffany lifts her hand, on her third finger on her left hand she exposes a ring. "I found the gift he left me the night the Games began. I know he can't see the intervi-," her voice hitches in her throat. She clears it shakily. "But I want him to know I accept. I, Tiffany Silverstein will marry you Ace Platinum. Please, just come back to me."

As her body fades to black the tears of heartbreak deafen the Capitols ears.

 **District Two Female.**

A hush falls over the Capitol as they realize who the next guest is going to be. Such a controversial tribute, she has slipped under the radar inside of the Games. But such a shocking entrance has made her never to be forgotten.

A shockingly familiar face is the first to join the fray. "Orion Alderman, the second Victor of the evening, welcome to the stage." Drusus addresses the young Victor. Well toned and with a shimmering smile he dazzles the audience.

"Thank you Drusus," he replies back gracefully. "I can't say that I was ever expecting to sit in this chair again," he looks around him with eyes wide. The audience erupts into laughter at the show he puts on, obviously camera trained Victors are always the best for situations like this one. Drusus got lucky, he has had a couple to pick through tonight.

"So, Orion, tell us about your relationship with Cassia?"

Orion clears his throat, "we were best friends when we were little. Always mucking about together and getting on each other's nerves. As a gift one time, I gave her this huge blanket, took me forever to save up enough for that one." Some of the audience lets out affectionate muttering at the gift Orion has described, eager to get noticed by one of their favorite Tributes. One of their most gruesome ones.

"After I got back from the Games… It was never the same. But I still care for her. I always have. Like a younger sibling, you know?" Orion's ramble gets applause from the audience and for a moment they are all united. Victor and crowd, all sharing sympathy for the Tribute he speaks on behalf one. One that certainly would not be happy for him talking for her.

"We all know," Drusus echos the Capitols opinion.

"It's strange you know. I'm the only one to talk on behalf of a Tribute no one cares for anymore. Her own parents have disowned her essentially, I know their interview was written off from the moment it began!" Orion bursts out into laughter, slapping one of his thighs he smiles directly at the audience.

"And her own brother, well, we all know what happened to him!" Orion winks at the audience, before miming a gunshot to his own head. With surprisingly good acting a couple of the residents cry out in shock. Remembering the gruesome death that was broadcasted to all of Panem.

The Capitol is used to gore. But nothing quite that _real._ It's different inside of the Games. It's controlled, everyone is on the same page, everyone has a chance. That's what makes it so entertaining. But in her brother's case, well, there was nothing fair to getting shot through the back of the head. No matter what crime he did to deserve it.

"I'm sure you could find plenty of her _lovers_ …" The word drips in venom. "Around the District, but none of them truly knew her. Just owned her from time to time." The audience is on the edge of their seats, captivated by the truth that is spilling from Orion's lips.

"No, she doesn't have many left that love her. I think that's why she's so attached to Nate." There are a few gasps at the mention of the male Tributes name. It's shocking to hear them together outside of the arena. Arena relationships are supposed to stay inside of that bubble, once they come outside they almost become deeper, more real. Harder to deal with for the audience all dreaming themselves of finding true love.

"It's a shame he will kill her eventually." With that Orion fades from view, leaving everyone else in his wake.

 **District Two Male.**

The burly man and woman are next to greet the cameras. Both strong built with bright blonde hair and blue eyes there is no question of who their Tribute belongs. Almost mirror images of a picture family. A family missing a son.

"Please welcome Matthew and Megan to the Capitol stage!" Drusus yells out, trying to create a buzz with the crowd for this bloodthirsty Tribute. Well, bloodthirsty no more. The crowd takes the prompt hook line and sinker, breaking into thundering applause.

"Your son seems to have gone on quite the character arch inside of the Games, what can you tell us about his personality at home?" Drusus asks this question with genuine interest. He has always had a bit of a special spot for this male Tribute. So much so he risked the wrath of an old President to bet on him. So far, he is not sure if his money has been placed well with this Tributes deflated performance.

"He is like a completely different person," Megan stammers out, looking down at her feet. Some of the crowd bust out laughing, for they have only known the Nate portrayed in the cameras. Not the one who used to be a menace. They only saw a small glimpse of that at the reapings, a glimpse they are all too quick to forget.

Matthew nods along, picking up where his wife stopped. "We have never seen him be so gentle with someone before, so kind, he has never even thought of putting his life on the line. It's quite admirable really." Matthew clears his throat, looking awkwardly around the camera. Megan reaches a handout, grasping his overly large one in hers they smile softly at each other.

"And what if he gets too soft, what if he doesn't come home?" Drusus asks the question on all of the audience's minds.

Megan takes a deep breath. "Well… That would be hard for all of us to deal with. He is still our son after all," she makes it sound like he is only her son as an afterthought. Something that used to be hers, now taken and modified by the Capitol into someone almost unrecognizable. Yet, unlike the others, he has become something better than he used to be.

"But… If he had found someone that he truly cares for… Then ultimately it is his decision to make. I'm just glad he has a chance to feel that way for someone. I'm proud of him for finally opening up-" Megan chokes up and has to stop, burying her head in her husband's chest he twirls her hair around his fingertips.

Drusus looks at him expectantly.

"Well, I don't know," he shrugs his shoulders. "Nate has always been difficult. I've probably learned more about him from what he's told those others in the arena in 7 days than I have from him in 18 years. It's his choice to make."

When it's clear the two of them are going to say nothing more Drusus waves them off good-naturedly. They just stare forebodingly back.

The next face is yet again of a young man who looks the mirror image of a Tribute. He could be the one inside of the arena right now, no doubt about it with the way his frame packs muscles and the way his bones protrude in all the right places from his handsome face.

"Hi, Milo," Drusus greats the young man warmly.

"Hey Drusus," Milo replies back good-naturedly.

"So Milo, let's get right into it. What was your relationship with Nate?"

Milo looks uncomfortable, pulling the hair at the back of his neck. "It was complicated. We were constantly fighting for the spot in the Games, but that kind died down when I got injured and it became his." Milo trains off for a moment, staring down at his hands.

Drusus clears his throat.

Milo looks back up, "I expected us to stop hanging out after I couldn't compete. It was just the kind of person Nate was. But… But we kept doing it. I helped him out as much as I could. It's only really a limp now. But you can't volunteer with a limp. But I don't know. When Nate confessed that I was more to him, I kind of felt that too, you know? But I don't know if it was in a romantic way. He's my best mate, and I hope I can keep being that. I think we just got this bond. This connection that's deeper. But maybe it's not the way everyone here is thinking. I'm sure he loves Cassia more than me. And that's enough. I wish things were different and I could have had the opportunity of being the best man at their wedding. Those two would make some beautiful babies."

Something about Milo's rant gets tears falling from the audience's cheeks. The raw reality of his rambles. The recognition of the two Tributes. The image painted of another life in all of their minds. It's an eerie silence that overtakes the room. One that seems like in the right condition, could go on forever.

But it's not the right condition. And the appearance of another figure in the interview chair cuts their grief off quite abruptly. Almost as if it never properly started.

 **District Three Male.**

An older woman appears on the stage. It's startling. How similar she looks to a now dead Tribute. Obviously a familiar relation a fake smile is barely hanging on to the slight droop of her lips. Curling down at the edges, like peeling paint in a room that has started to fade. Become warn-down. Got lost to the infinity of time. Died.

"Please welcome to the stage, Clarissa Lancaster." The first dead-silence of the audience staggering. A breath too loud can be heard. A man coughing on the stench of perfume. A lady dropping a mirror she was using to check that her lipstick was perfect. Not a moment of thought on the woman now on the stage. Until now.

Sitting before them is the mother of a dead Tribute. This kind of interview is almost unheard of. It's particularly unusual for a parent to know another Tribute - that is not their own flesh and blood - well enough for the interview stage. Let alone the Capitol not having enough other people to interview.

Callum is a special case.

"So, Clarissa, how did you first meet Callum?"

She clears her throat, attempting to speak only a high noise comes out. Drusus attempts to reach a hand out in sympathy, but it only fades through the projection, startling those in the audience have forgotten the illusion, despite the constant changes.

She takes a deep breath.

"I first met Callum when his mother was still alive. She was… undesirable. Callum is my sons best friend, you'll hear from him shortly I think. So, when Callum's mother passed away he had become as close as a son to the family. He stayed with us when the _group home_ was too much. The kids all think of him as a brother."

Drusus nods along as a tear falls from the woman's cheek, his hand twitches in an ache to reach out and support her. But the projection is a cruel illusion. In reality, this interview was done days ago. The pain of her loss fresher. Not that it ever truly goes away. The Games change in irreparable ways.

"What was Callum's mother like?" Drusus asks, barely a whisper.

Clarissa's face scrunches in distaste. "I don't want to talk ill of the dead," she starts, her voice strained. Drusus eggs her on. She takes a deep breath, "She had a complicated relationship with Callum. He was accidental and the father abandoned him. It broke his mother and she turned to _substances_. It was her downfall. I often think of Callum more of as my own son than hers. He just wasn't born from my womb." She offers a small smile at the end, this time it is pulled up with the rosy lens of past thoughts.

"Thank you," Drusus tells her. Taking a deep breath. Almost debating the next question, yet he knows that it is scripted in. He has to. "And what are your thoughts on Callum now? After what happened with your daughter?" The silence of the audience becomes a buzzing thing, almost alive inside of the total absence of sound.

Silent tears start to fall from Clarissa's cheeks as she grabs a handkerchief and uses it to wipe them away. "It's not Callums fault that his first instinct was to run. I'm sure it would be all of ou-" her voice breaks and the tears become louder sobs. "I just don't know how to deal with her being gone." She eventually chokes out.

She disappears a moment later.

A young man's face replaces her, yet again clouded by the appearance of familiarity. The son. The best friend. The brother. "Welcome, Alfie." Drusus announces him.

"Glad to be here Drusus, I've always dreamed of seeing your beautiful face in the flesh," Alfie jokes. It causes the audience to erupt into laughter at the abrupt change in tone. When Alfie blows a kiss toward the announcer they all lose it.

"So Alfie, what do you miss most about not having Callum back home?" Drusus asks with a good-natured smile, glad of the change in tone from his mother's interview.

"Just not having him around really, I miss having someone I can talk to about everything. Or tease and make fun of. He's got the most infectious smile - you haven't really seen that yet in the Games, and I miss that pretty bad." Alfie pulls up his cheeks into an almost grimace as he faces Drusus who erupts into laughter at the expression.

Drusus thinks this boy would have made a good Tribute.

 **District Four Female.**

Another boy faces Drusus. He's lanky, tall but leanly muscled, with curly sun-bleached hair." He offers a smile, but unlike the boy before him, this one looks natural and well practiced. It makes the women of the audience pay immediate attention.

"Welcome, Tony." Drusus introduces the boy to the audience, who meet his name with rampant cheers and applause. Tony smiles out at them, waving, he winks. "So, tell us about your relationship with Carolyn."

Tony's cheeks pinken at her name and he runs a hand through his hair self consciously, biting his bottom lip. "Well, we've been friends for a while, she's the only one that can really put up with me," he jokes.

Drusus nods along, "so, when did your relationship progress from that?" The question gets his cheeks deepening in color. Some of the audience laugh at the expression on his face, it's so young and boyish, it's a stark contrast to what they have seen before. Of young love.

"Probably the morning of the Games, we walked into the ocean together and my hand kind of found hers." Neither of us knew what it meant, but it just felt so right, you know? It felt like we should have done it a lot sooner. He starts to bite the end of his nail self consciously as he looks down, trying to get his cheeks under control.

"So, during the goodbyes, that was your first kiss?" Drusus teases, the boy's cheeks only go redder.

"I guess you could say that," he stammers back. His eyes lift in recollection of the memory.

"And what was it like watching her fall for another Tribute inside of the Games?" Drusus voice is harsh against his pink cheeks. It causes an abrupt change in the audience.

Tony's face falls. "Well, it hurt at first. When I thought she really was into him. I was screaming at the screen when I saw her let him go at the Bloodbath. Ruined her own face for him." Tony growls out those words, changing from a boy to a young man in a moment. His voice deepens some, aggression radiating off of him.

"Then when she left the Careers to join him I was worried again, especially with how close to death she came. Some of the things she said hurt." Yet again he growls the words, his face contorting from anger to pain to anger again.

Drusus wonders for a moment if there is something deeper going on with this boy, something dark and strange. Something which would attract such dark people together. Something that could create a bond between the two of them.

"But then she killed him" he gloats these words full of pride. "That's when I realized it was just an act. That it didn't mean anything." He says the words so confidently it is almost painful for those who are older in the crowd. You can only fake so much, but this boy seems so confident it would be almost cruel to point it out.

"Now I'm just proud of her, ready to see her kick ass and come back home." Tony gloats these words yet again. Taking ownership of this Tribute.

"Thank you, Tony," Drusus finishes off the interview with an unsettled feeling in his heart.

 **District Six Female.**

Three people join the stage across from Drusus. Two of them stand, an extremely pretty young woman and a man that looks like he could bend steel beams. The boy in the chair looks small compared to them, with messy bronze hair and light eyes.

"So, the motley crew has arrived" Drusus jokes, addressing the trio.

"Sorry, Drusus we travel as a pack," the intimidating boy states. Crossing his arms, he towards over the girl at his side.

"You certainly do," Drusus agrees, trying to find his feet as he addresses the imposing group. Even in projection, they intimidate him. It's not a feeling he is used to. Not even when he faces off against the Careers. Or murderers. He's not used to addressing more than a single person, that's what scares him, even if a pre-recorded interview. "Is attacking Peacekeepers another one of your habits?" The question makes the audience break into applause.

The boy sitting in the chair looks sheepish as the large one claps him on the back. "That's just our boy Riley's habit." The large boy says, grinning down at him.

"One we hope he doesn't repeat," warns the woman to the other side of him. Placing a hand gently on his shoulder. "We can't always rely on generous Victor's to get him out of trouble," she adds.

The crowd cheers at the thought of their Victor, Adam Brauer being a gentleman. He's one of the more popular Victors, young, handsome and just mysterious enough to keep them guessing about him even after all of the interviews surrounding the Games.

"What do you think, Riley? Is it something you are planning on repeating?" Drusus addresses the boy directly, trying to get an answer out of the boy himself and not those around him. For he is the one the Capitol really wants to know about.

"I'd do it a million times without Adam saving me if it meant that I could get Esme back." Riley's voice is serious. It causes a hush to the audience and the two standing next to him to simultaneously place a hand on each shoulder in support. In the unity of their bond. "We just want her home." He adds.

Drusus nods, his brow furrowed. "If you could get any message to her right now, what would you want her to know?" He asks.

Riley takes a deep breath. "I want her to know I'm proud of her, and that she's not a bad person because of what she has had to do to survive. That we want her home, and that we are waiting for her. Not just as friends, but as her family."

 **District Six Male.**

When a single girl enters the stage it is such a contrast to the older teenagers that were just there a moment ago that it startles the audience from their restlessness of sitting through the interviews.

The girl is sixteen, tall and lanky she should not look as youthful as she does at this moment. It's not even her stylists that have done it. There's just a certain presence surrounding her that makes the audience breathless as she stares wide eyes at them. A slight tremor to her hand that twirls the hem of her dress around her fingertips.

"Welcome, Melanie," Drusus says softly, almost a whisper. It gets the audience on the edge of their seats.

"Hi, Drusus." Her voice comes back as a whisper, yet is projected all around the audience like a shout. It's oddly eerie. "I guess I'm here to talk about Jerry, right?"

Drusus laughs, "that's right," he replies. She has done the questioning for him.

"Jerry's weird. He can never sit in one spot, and his leg always bounces, even when he's standing. He's loud in the wrong situations and far too quiet in the right ones. He's got this grin that is slightly crooked on the right-hand side but you'd only notice if you looked really hard. He looks up to his brother when he really shouldn't." Melanie has to stop to get a breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

"His favorite color is blue, but not like the ocean, like the sky on a really cloudy day where you can only see small patches past. He only wears his hair in a bun because he doesn't like the feeling of it against his cheeks but he hates getting it cut more. He always smells of the wind even when he hasn't been outside in days and his sweat smells strangely sweet sometimes. He wants to be everyone's friend, but is afraid they don't actually like him." She has to stop, a sob wracks her body that she physically pushes down before continuing.

"I guess what I'm trying to say. Is that he's not the boy you are seeing in the Games. He's not the person who killed that girl with the rock. He's not the person that poisoned that other boy. The Jerry I know would only try to help them. He's not the person you have been seeing inside of the Games. I don't know who that is." Her voice breaks again, only this time it takes longer for her sobs to be controlled.

"He's become someone I can't even tell you about because I don't know what's going through his mind. It's like he's been replaced by someone else. Someone foreign. Someone who I haven't met before. And that scares me." Drusus looks at her gently, wishing he could offer some sympathy.

"What do you think is going to happen if he makes it home? Drusus asks her softly.

She takes a deep breath, shaking as she exhales. "I don't know. I don't know if I want to know now." Tears fall taster. "It's like I've never known him."

 **Aetius Valter, 54, The Capitol.**

Drusus wraps up the final interview with a smile and wave to the audience, promising them answers to the latest cliff hangers of the Games tomorrow morning and assuring them all to get a good night's sleep and not stay up too late partying. Aetius has to stop himself from rolling his eyes at all this.

But there is one more event for the night.

Drusus announces Aetius toward the stage.

He walks with cool confidence, staying composed with the eyes of the nation glued to his body. He's lost weight since the arrest, his muscles become less dense, almost lanky. But he still has an aura to him that reeks of authority.

Aetius stands in the center of the stage. Flicking his hand he issues for Drusus to leave the stage. He does so with the excitement of a puppy trying to please its owner. Or maybe like one trying to run from a beating. It's almost impossible to tell with the Capitol residents.

Aetius clears his throat and the silence is deafening. His first live address to the citizens since he took over the Presidential position. His citizens now.

"As you all know by now, there has been some turmoil in the Capitol. Slowly, we have become infested with rats. Creeping and crawling in the darkness they nibbled on our toes and started wearing down our very foundations as citizens. They threatened to ruin everything." Aetius takes another pause, staring at all of those around him. He knows that the feed of tonight will be broadcasted to every Capitol resident. They will all have their eyes glued.

"But, with the strength that we have shown since the dark days. We overpowered the rats-" cheer from the audience cuts his next words before they can leave his lips. He smiles.

"Now, we are left with the issue. What do we do with the rats that remain? Do we leave them alive, to rot? Or, do we chop their heads off before they have any chance to breed? To escape?" Aetius nods his head towards those who cannot be seen offstage.

In a moment, there is a figure being dragged toward where Aetius stands. The figure wrestles against the massive figures who hold them Captive. A straw bag is over their head, it twists and turns as their body convulses. Drusus nods and a hand goes flying, wrapping the figure around the head their body stops wriggling for a moment and stumbles forward in a daze.

"Before you, I present, the biggest rat of them all." Drusus goes behind the figure and pulls the bag off of their head. Underneath is a disgraced President.

"Ziva Crimson, our old President," Aetius spits the words like venom. "The biggest rat, she attempted to make the Capitol fester from the inside out. Planting the seeds of decay and greed. She was ready to ruin everything we have been creating, our legacy that has lasted 189 years and will continue to last hundreds more." Aetius's voice raises pace.

"We cannot allow a rat to fester here. It does not deserve our sympathy. Our hospitality. It deserves nothing but an end." With that Aetius takes two steps back from the figure, nodding again at the lackeys they bring her down to her knees.

In a final feat of strength, she cries out, getting one arm free of the grasp she claws out, connecting with the man's face. It only lasts a moment though, before she has been smacked again and the grip becomes tighter. Almost ready to crush her there.

From his pocket, Aetius brings out the gun that almost ended his own life in a weaker moment. Now it's metallic exterior gleams from the stage lights like it always belonged there. Like it was meant to be.

Stepping forward again he makes sure the cameras have gotten the gun in their gaze before placing its cool exterior against her dark hair. "Any last words?" He whispers, not letting the Capitol hear what is being said.

"Did they get out?" She whispers, the desperation in her voice is heartbreaking.

Aetius pulls the trigger without an answer.


	52. Unsteady (GAMES - EVENING 7 )

**Weiss Forge, 18, District 1.**

The ground shakes under Weiss's body as her fists tangle in the girl in front of her hair. Ripping at it harder the other girl screams as they collide over the jagged ground. There is nothing solid to this fight. Nothing suggesting that the two girls had been trained since they could walk. It is pure desperation. Pure chaos.

It echoes of the arena, of the world that seems to be falling apart around them. Weiss's hand moves lower down and she digs her nails into Cassia's ear causing blood to gush over the girl and Cassia to scream out as she brings a hand up and claws and Weiss's cheek.

Blood squirts again and a pain bursts from Weiss's face. Blood runs hot against her cool skin and she feels tears start to dot at the edges of her vision. She grinds her teeth together, trying to push the dagger clasped in her right hand toward Cassia's throat.

Cassia remains unarmed, trying to dodge out of the way of the dagger it nicks her hair and sends a ribbon of it streaming down her face. "Nate!" Cassia yells out desperately, trying to push her way on top of Weiss the other girl shifts. Weiss smiles to herself as she swipes the dagger again, Nate will not come to her rescue. Not with the ground shaking like the waves.

Because Weiss knows the truth, Nate is nothing but a coward. A coward who will only pick fights he can guarantee that he can win. He can't guarantee this one. So, he will run. Abandoning the girl he swore to protect not a moment sooner.

"Are you waiting for your boyfriend to save you," Weiss jeers. Shifting her weight suddenly she throws Cassia off balance. Waiting no time Esme shifts her body on top of the other girls, grasping her wrists underneath her palms and pressing her legs against Cassias hips she gets Cassia pinned beneath her.

Beneath Cassia, the cruel arena digs into her back. Weiss sees red. But she's not ready to kill the girl yet. Not with the arena shaking, not knowing that every camera of the Games will be trained on her. This is her moment to shine. A moment of victory and a moment of fame. _I am about to take out the first person I have ever known to score a twelve._ The thought causes Weiss's body to alight with lust. The lust of power.

"Your boyfriend isn't here to save you, and right after you, I'm going to go off and kill him." Weiss's mouth curls open into a grimace. Cassia struggles desperately underneath her, trying to wriggle her way out of Weiss's grip she only causes more cuts to open up on her back. Weiss's grimace only gets larger as red starts to pool beneath the two girls.

"Fuck you!" Cassia yells between breaths. Her voice is raspy from the weight of Weiss crushing her. Weiss smiles down.

"You wish," she teases.

Cassia screams, arching her back she spits into Weiss's open mouth.

Weiss's mind clouds with a rage unknown to her as she pulls up one of her arms, intending to sock Cassia in the head she forgets about the knife for a moment. She burns with a desire to hurt this girl only with her own accord. She wants to feel Cassia's life drain from her knowing that Weiss did it all herself. No help from the Capitol.

Yet, just before her hand comes back down she feels an extreme force. The force comes from the hand that was in the air, it sends her arm out beyond Cassia and her body tumbling after it. Weiss yelps as she falls forward on the ground. It cuts into her, causing blood to flow from her as it did from Cassia.

Weiss feels a burning from her hand, looking over she sees something that causes her blood to run cold. In the middle of her palm, a trident sticks out.

 **Carolyn Aquana, 17, District 4.**

Carolyn rushes forward as the ground shakes underneath her. On the horizon, smoke bellows from the large cone shaped mountains. The ones she just escaped from. She never expected to stumble onto such a site.

But the Tribute she most wants vengeance against just tumbled into her reach. She won't waste a moment longer. "It's been awhile." Carolyn smiles as she walks slowly toward Weiss. She threw the trident with such force that two of the prongs have embedded themselves into the harsh ground.

The other is embedded into the palm of the female Tribute. Blood runs down her wrist as she tugs at the Trident, desperately trying to escape now that Carolyn is marching toward her. "I thought you would be dead by now," Weiss spits out. She continues to pull at the trident, shimming it from side to side she bites down with the pain it is causing her.

"I thought you would have had your daddy sponsor you by now," Carolyn jeers back. She stares at the large red patch on Weiss's shirt. "But it looks like you've been abandoned. What a shame. I guess they are betting on the boy of your district to make it home after all."

Weiss screams in rage as she pulls the trident out of the ground, blood pouring from where it punctures her hand she brings the spike back through, taking a chunk of her flesh with it that was caught on one of the spiked prongues.

"Oh, have we touched a nerve?" Carolyn chides. She holds no weapon, but her hand is a length of rope. The same rope that was used to tie her up. On one end, a large rock has been tied. "You never were any good at the trident at training," Carolyn reminds Weiss as the girl takes a defensive position.

"And you look god awful, whatever happened to the girl sitting at the interviews. I know you made _quite_ the impression on Drusus. Hell, half the Capitol was _drooling_ over you." Carolyn laughs as she continues to advance, twirling the rope around her hands she starts to pick up its speed. As if testing how much force she can get into the rock.

"You're just jealous," Weiss spits back, baking away from Carolyn.

"Jealous?" Carolyn laughs. "You've got me there I am _so_ jealous of you. Jealous of how easy your life has been. Jealous of how you didn't even need to be here. But you threw that all away, didn't you?" Weiss stays quiet, she has started panting heavily.

"Now look at you, no one to protect you. No daddy to come to your aid. No mummy to coddle you. No hoard of fans to keep you safe. Just a broken little girl. One who has greatly overestimated her worth." Carolyn throws the rock, it comes within a meter of Weiss's face before Carolyn pulls it back. Laughing harder as Weiss flinches.

"You had everything, and you chose to be here. I'm going to make you regret that." Carolyn jumps forward. Weiss sticks the trident out desperately trying to keep the girl away. Carolyn sidesteps it easily. Grasping the prongue that is slick with Weiss's blood she pulls it tightly.

The force almost causes Weiss to topple over, she drops the trident to keep her balance and Carolyn smiles now she is reunited with her weapon. Then she does something unexpected, throws the weapon away. Far out of both girls arm reach.

"I'm going to prefer doing this slowly," Carolyn informs Weiss before she brings the rock up again. It happens quickly. One moment Weiss is upright and facing Carolyn. The next she is on the ground with blood pooling from her head. Staining her blonde hair that she once cherished so much.

"This is going to hurt you a lot more than it is going to hurt me," Carolyn teases Weiss. Brining the rope up she smashes it down on Weiss's ankle. There is a sickening crunch as it meets the bone and Weiss cries out. Tears streaming down her face her whole vision starts to distort.

Carolyn flips Weiss's body over, holding her in a position much like what Weiss held Cassia in. "You know, you really are quite beautiful," Carolyn muses, her lips right next to Weiss's ear.

"It's such a shame I'm about to ruin that," Carolyn brings the rock up once more before smashing it into Weiss's face. The girl screams for her final time.

 **Jerry Kapper, 15, District 6.**

Jerry awakes to a cold sweat and the ground shaking. He thinks at first that it is simply his mind playing tricks on him. His heart palpitates as he realizes this is no trick. This is reality unfolding around him.

He scrambles to his feet, legs shaking like he was shivering his life away he desperately tries to grasp on a nearby tree for support. A branch snaps underneath his hand and he is sent sprawling back to the soft earth. He moans as twigs scrape at his skin, a musky scent enveloping his nose as it hits the ground beneath him.

Loud thundering noises can be heard all around him and Jerry wonders if the arena's sky is falling. Surely that is all that could make the immense noise that he can hear right now, the noise drowns out everything, even his own thoughts.

With wide eyes Jerry places one hand in front of the other, one knee in front of the other he starts to crawl toward anywhere but where he is. He needs safety. But the word has become such a foreign concept he barely remembers what it means. Let alone what it feels like. It has been so long since Jerry has felt truly safe.

It has been so long since Jerry has had an innocent encounter.

Suddenly, someone rushes through the bushes in front of him. He stares wide eyed as they almost trample his hands. Jerry has to bite his lip to stop from crying out, startled. He stares as a blond head disappears into the distance of the forest.

Jerry feels his blood go cold. That was Nate.

But then where is Cassia? It didn't take anybody long to figure out that they would be a pair right until the very end. A cannon booms, as if to answer his question.

 **Esme Layton, 17, District 6.**

"Who do you think that was?" Esme asks Ace, startled at the sound of a cannon. Not only does the arena seem to be shaking, but the very foundations of the Tributes themselves. _Final eight no longer, soon it will be time to go home._

"No way of knowing," Ace muses. He stretches his hand out, grimacing. It pains him to straighten his fingers out again. The medicine's effects have worn off almost instantaneously. All that is left is the smell of rotting flesh. A smell neither can get out of their noses. But none has mentioned it.

"It's almost time to go home," Esme says her thoughts aloud before she realizes she is doing it.

"You think so?" Ace asks her, a wistfulness to his voice.

"I can feel it," Esme replies.

"What you can feel is the arena imploding," Ace replies with a cheeky grin.

"No, I can feel something else." Esme insists, getting up on shaky feet she walks over to where Ace stands, his back propped against a tree. He brings his good arm up, wrapping an arm around her shoulders he pulls her closer as the ground continues to shake.

It would be easier to sit, but both prefer to stand. To watch thick smoke billow up in the distance beyond the trees. Beyond the refuge of the forest. "When you get home, will you name your son after me?" Ace asks suddenly.

"What?" Esme asks, startled.

Ace looks over at her with pained eyes. "I'm not making it, not with this arm." He explains, wincing as he glances at it. Esme feels her stomach drop to the ground. "And all Victors have children, it's just the way of things," he shrugs as if saying something nonchalantly. "So, can you name your son after me?" He smiles at Esme with his crooked grin.

"No point in giving up, you might make it home just yet," Esme replies. Her stomach sinks like she is telling a lie to a family member. Expect she doesn't have any of those. And she isn't lying. Not exactly. It's impossible to know if Ace will make it home or not.

Ace looks over at her with a pitiful look on his face. "There still eig-seven of us left. That's six more to get rid of. With me gone it will be five. I like those odds for you." Ace smiles, "it's a shame the majority of them are Careers but I'm sure you can take them. You just gotta play it smart." Ace winks at her.

"You might make it home," Esme repeats. A knot has developed in her throat and she does her best to swallow it down.

Ace looks at her again, this time he has a small smile on his lips. "Fine, if I make it home I'll name mine and Tiffany's first daughter after you. Now, will you return the favor?" Tears start to fall from Esme's cheeks.

"Okay," she stammers out.

 **Cassia Slander, 16, District 2.**

Cassia feels branches whip at her face as she changes her way through the undergrowth. She could not think of much except getting away from Weiss. And Carolyn. Two girls she once trusted with her life now could be her death.

From her back blood splatters the ground and it trickles down her neck from the wounds made in her ear from Weiss's nails. She must be the luckiest tribute alive, forever saved by others vengeance. Forever trapped from those she has known. Debts she will never be able to repay.

Her head throbs from an old injury and her mind's a mess. She is barely able to string thoughts together manic thoughts swirl around her brain like water in an unplugged sink. All she knows is she has to get as far away from the shaking ground as possible. Even if that means abandoning Nate.

Nate.

Who abandoned her first.

" _Let's just enjoy this."_

Who would have known that _this_ was to be ended so soon? With a cry. With the attack of someone they thought could be an ally. Cassia can see Weiss as clear as day in her mind. The rabid look in her eyes as she sprang on top of her. Surely they could have stayed together longer. But it was Weiss's time to make her move. For better or for worse.

Cassia can't hold a thought for long before a new one bubbles up. Desperately she wonders what she can do now? All of her gameplay has been dictated by others up until this moment. Now she is alone. And she is startled by the fact that she has no idea what to do. Her whole life has been people telling her what to do.

From her brother selling her, to her parents training her, to Nate protecting her. Cassia has always had others around her. Though never because she has requested it. Now the endless possibilities have left no room for anything but a swirling mass of thoughts inside her mind.

A crashing boom that seems to come from the sky brings Cassia back to her sense. She looks up to see a darker cloud coming from the mouth of one of the large cone shaped mountains. It suddenly dawns on her. They aren't mountains at all.

They are volcanos.

 **Callum Lennon, 18, District 3.**

Callum lies on the ground, curled into the fetal position his shoulder throbs from the pain of the blisters caused by Jerry's sword. His body has erupted into a cold sweat yet he feels too hot to be alive. Like he is being cooked in a large pot he rips at his shirt, trying desperately to get it off and cool down from the heat.

The heat that seems to come from his very core.

He wonders briefly what he ever did to deserve this pain, this pain that is flowing through his veins like hot lava and makes him want to rip his very skin off. His fingernails dig into his knees as he tries to think despite the agony that is throbbing through his body.

The agony that surely can only amount to death.

He wonders what has happened to have caused this, surely he isn't infected, Jerry made sure of that. Maybe he ate something from the Gamemakers, something they had made sure would cause a stir. But he can't remember the last time he ate. He can't remember the last time he did anything. All he can seem to remember and feel is the burning pain. The pain that surely is worse than death.

His thoughts go to Talia. _Is this how it felt to die?_ If it was then surely the end was not the best part. Surely the end is better than what he is experiencing in this very moment, His whole body convulses for a moment and he sends the almost empty contents of his stomach up and onto the dirty in front of him.

He can't be sure through his blurred vision, but his puke does not look the regular color. It looks more like blood. He groans and rolls from the fetal position into his side, his arms wrapped as tightly as he can around his legs he starts to beg anyone willing to listen.

He is no longer thinking about the Gamemakers. About the Sponsors that would surely be able to help him. About those watching helpless back from his District. He is begging for anyone that will listen. For a god that he does not think exists. He's not begging for forgiveness. He's not begging for a miracle cure. He's begging for it all to end.

Lying on the dirty floor of the forest barely able to think Callum is begging for his death because the pain has become too much to bear. The pain of loss. The pain of the burn. The pain of whatever seems to be seeping into his very bones.

He starts to feel his mind slipping, the world becoming less and less prominent and the ground somehow becoming softer beneath him. The pain doesn't fade, but his connection to his body does. It's almost like he's watching someone else go through it. Watching from a long tunnel that is closing up like a landslide by each second. He can't make himself angry. After all, all tunnels have a beginning and an end.

He is merely leaving the tunnel.

* * *

Authors note:

Oops.

May the odds be ever in your favor,

And,

Thank you for your sacrifice.

* * *

Eulogies:

 **8th: Weiss Forge, 18, District 1. Killed by Carolyn. Created by Team Shadow. Weiss was such a fun character to write and I have wholeheartedly enjoyed writing her journey throughout the Games. She was a Tribute who had a real shot at winning and she almost did it. She just let her ego get in the way in the end there. She had a good battle, I think she would have been proud of how she left.**

* * *

Sponsoring Information:

Sponsoring is now open to your Tributes, or any Tributes that you would like to sponsor.

To Sponsor please stay active on the story and then PM me following this form;

Who would you like to Sponsor?

What would you like to Sponsor them?

Why do they deserve the item?

How could they use it to win?

What has been your favorite moment so far inside of the story?

As the Games ramp up I would like an increased level of detail to your answers :) And the reviews you have previously left will be factored in.

* * *

 **The fallen:**

 **24th: Flint Fraser, 13, District 12. Killed by Blake. Created by iridescenteverdeen. Flint became one of my favorite characters and I shed some tears thinking that he had to go. He was just too young and too scrawny. His persistence optimism followed him to the end and I'll miss him.**

 **23rd: Pricilla Winters, 15, District 12. Killed by Carolyn. Created by Mewkitcat. Pricilla fought to the end, her fear leading her to turn on those she probably could have trusted. Her family will miss her deeply, its almost fitting that she followed her District Partner out.**

 **22nd: Weft Loomis, 15, District 8. Killed by Ace. Created by destiny's sweet melody. Weft has a hard life, he had a solid plan but unfortunately was carried away by talk of alliances and those he trusted. His interview will be remembered as one of the best and his quirky sarcasm will be missed. He's with his mother and sister now.**

 **21st: Cole Rockweld, 15, District 9. Killed by Cassia. Created by The-Moth-God. Cole was a Tribute I think many expected to go far inside the Games. He almost did, but the true worth of alliances was shown at his expense. Cole did not go easily and he will leave his mark in the Games with the injuries he inflicted on Ace. He died fighting, Barrick can be proud of that.**

 **20th: Trafalgar Zaun, 15, District 10. Killed by Weiss. Created by 66samvr. Trav, they were different from any other Tribute I have seen before. They were so interesting to write and almost made it away. They can find solace in the friend they made in Eva, the true acceptance of their identity she had. But it is a bittersweet ending.**

 **19th: Eva Brath, 14, District 10. Killed by Esme. Created by Team Shadow. Eva was never designed to win these Games and I think most people saw that. I added a lot of backstory to this Tribute myself and she will always have a special spot. She can be with her sisters and father now, the hope that her youngest sister is not reaped will live on with the Capitol. That's all she ever wanted.**

 **18th: Violet Mercury, 14, District 8. Killed by Blake. Created by Booklovin'03. Violet, like Eva was never meant to win these Games. I think she knew that too. I think she would be okay with that, she wasn't sure if she wanted to win. Jasper will surely mourn her and her death will affect the District. It just wasn't meant to be.**

 **17th: Harvest Kohl, 15, District 11. Killed by a mutt. Created by curiousclove. Harvest was a special Tribute, so pure at heart and trying to be positive he just wanted to protect his crush. He sacrificed himself for her, even if he did not realize it at the moment and Poppy will surely be devastated. His memory will live on, and the courageous actions that he left. I think he would be happy, Poppy told him how she felt and they we're able to share a moment. I'll miss writing you Harvest, you and Poppy we're so cute together.**

 **16th: Kalista Stone, 17, District 9. Killed by Oliver. Created by The Girl With The Knives. Kalista's death was so hard for me to write, the reason for me balling my eyes out late at night. Shes a Tribute I got attached to but never really managed to spread that attraction. Her death is going to devastate Oliver and impact his Games forward. She could have made it so much further. Never getting to show off all of the skill and potential the Gamemakers saw in her. She's a Tribute I will miss deeply.**

 **15th: Blake Calloun, 17, District 4. Killed by Poppy. Created by 66samvr. Blake, you are the Tribute that we all loved to hate. But you will be missed, your complete lack of empathy and self-centered behavior was very fun to write and you were one of the most real Tributes inside of the Games. I know your character ended pretty far off of what 66samvr originally intended every story needs a villain and Blake, you did a very good job. I also think its a little funny. Blake, a Career, ended up being killed by one of the weakest Tributes.**

 **14th: Talia Lancaster, 15, District 3. Killed by a mutt. Created by FrostyShadow. Talia, you were too pure and soft for these Games. In your complete trust of Callum, you forgot that sometimes the fight or flight instinct cannot be helped. And sometimes intentions are not kept no matter how well intended they are. I'm sorry your death was so gruesome, but the Capitol is starting to need a bit of a show. I'll miss your innocence and your story. I hope you're painting pictures from the beyond at the moment. Rooting Callum on.**

 **13th: Caroline Hollyhock, 17, District 5. Killed by Jerry. Created by jaded-love-pure-hate. Caroline, you were another character that we all loved to hate. You just wanted to keep your baby alive and ended up regretting the biggest decision of your life. I don't think that you were an honestly bad person, you just tried to do what you could to stay alive and keep your baby alive. Immoral maybe, but I don't think you truly had malicious intent. It's funny how karma catches up though.**

 **12th: Willow Ashes, 16, District 7. Killed by Carolyn. Created by Team Shadow. Willow you certainly had a journey. I'm glad you were able to come into your own for a bit at the end there even if you did not get away quite in time. I'm sorry about that. You were one fun character to write that just wound up in a bad situation. You taunting the Careers was one of the most fun scenes that I have written and I will miss that from you.**

 **11th: Oliver Apollo, 17, District 5. Killed by Weiss. Created by StephenSwiss. Ollie, you were a good man. You tried to stay true to yourself at the end and ultimately you just lost the plot a little bit. Everyone experiences death differently and for Ollie, it pushed him over the edge. Its a bittersweet ending for Ollie, he finally has escaped the present that he hated so much. Yet he has lost his opportunity for a future. He will be missed.**

 **10th: Nirvana Ivanov, 18, District 7. Killed by Carolyn. Created by BabyRue11. Nirvana you were a character I largely ran away with and loved to hate. Gosh, maybe you were a little less sleazy than Blake but you were pretty messed up too. You really did not expect to die when you did and I had a lot of fun writing about you. As weird as it sounds I'm really going to miss you.**

 **9th: Poppy Northrop, 15, District District 11. Killed by Callum. Created by curiousclove. God damn Poppy you did not have an easy ride. You and Harvest were so cute to write about and you two were so pure and god and it kills me to have to kill you. I'm proud of Poppy for taking out one of the biggest competitors inside of the Games and keeping on going despite loosing Harvest. I think you are happier now.**


	53. Heads Will Roll (GAMES - DAY 8)

**Jerry Kapper, 15, District 6.**

Horns blaring wake Jerry from his rest. Jerking upward his hair scrapes against the leaves that rest above his head. He didn't register falling asleep, not with the thundering that came from the volcanoes erupting. _It must have caused everyone to enter the forest._ Jerry realizes the sickening truth, these woods that he once stalked now have much more powerful players.

But that's not woke him, Jerry looks up. Half hoping to see all of the other Tributes faces to flash above him. _Maybe they all killed each other while I slept and I'm the victor?_ The thought has too much hope in it, it's unnatural for everything that he has done.

Jerry ponders this, he's done some pretty terrible things throughout these games. Leaving Tributes to die, killing a pregnant one, betraying those who only wanted help. Yet Jerry can't make himself feel bad about that, he can't really make himself feel anything. _I had to do it to survive,_ Jerry has convinced himself of this statement all throughout the Games. However, he's not totally sure he believes it.

He's seen Tributes survive doing less than what he has done, ones that have gone insane because of it. The Victors who have turned to morphling or the Tributes who ended up offing themselves because of guilt. The Capitol always tries to portray it as a mutt that has attacked them or another Tribute found them. But really, Jerry knows the truth- he's seen the hopelessness in their eyes enough of the time.

Drusus Lionella's voice rings out- it's enough to get his mind to separate from those melancholy thoughts. "Greetings Tributes, now you've all made it to the final few I have a surprise for you!" His voice reeks of glee, if Jerry was next to him, Jerry is convinced his breath would smell of rancid meat.

"A feast!" Jerry smiles inwardly, he has made it to a monumental part of these Games.

"Since the cornucopia is out of action, the feast will be taking place on the shoreline, between the forest and where you all started the Games. It commences at noon, so you all have plenty of time to arrive." With that, the trumpets blare again leaving ghostly echoes in Jerry's mind.

If Jerry went to the feast he would surely be surrounded with much more potent competitors, ones that could snap him in two. _However, since the Careers had to evacuate they surely don't have many supplies. Or food._ Jerry's stomach rumbles to reinforce this and he digs into his backpack, grabbing out some dried meat he mulls it over as he softens the meat before chewing it.

 _Even if it's just to survey the competition, it's probably worth an adventure over there._ Jerry's mind is made up.

 **Esme Layton, 17, District 6.**

"You are not going to that." Ace tells Esme as soon as the announcement has finished. He pulls his good arm over her protectively, his eyes glaring at a bodiless voice.

"What if there's something to help you?" Esme replies defensively. Now Ace has pulled her closer she can feel how hot he is, and how much he is sweating. She can feel his sweat seep into her shirt from just this moment. Is it just her, or is his heartbeat not quite rhythmic?

"It's not worth putting you in that kind of danger." He bites back, resolute.

"Soon you won't be able to boss me around. Let me make this decision Ace." From the instant those words have come from her mouth she regrets them. Looking over she sees the pain that hides beneath Ace's eyes.

He opens his mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. Just a gaping hole of silence.

"I'm-I'm sorry I wasn't thinking-" Esme starts but then cuts off. She's not sure what she was meaning to say.

"I think you need to go for a walk." Ace states.

"What?"

"Well, I would but if I'm honest I don't think I can get up."

"Ace-"

"Please, just go, just go for a second." Ace's voice is resolute.

Esme nods, pushing Aces arm off of her he slumps further against the tree. Closing his eyes he stares toward the sky, which has now started to be covered in thick black smoke. _Soon, it will start to choke us, once the Gamemakers decide to lower it._ Esme thinks, her arms developing goosebumps from the thought. She doesn't like the idea of not being able to breathe.

"I'll get you some more water," Esme states, picking up one of their canteens.

Ace doesn't reply.

There's a little pool a couple of minutes from where Ace and her set up their camp- not that it can really be called that. It's just a little clump of trees that give decent shelter to the two of them. Because really they are sitting ducks.

Esme knows that Ace makes her vulnerable, but not even for an instant has the thought of leaving Ace entered her mind. They are connected, have found friendship with one another and Esme is going to see it through to the end. Even if it could result in her end as well. But she doesn't really believe that all the other Tributes will be too preoccupied with the idea of the feast.

Ace told her not to go to it, but would it be selfish to listen to him? She has the power to save his life, in theory, she could be the only one to turn up. However, she knows the other competitors here, bloodthirsty and hungry for winning. Plus, there's as much of a chance as only a piece of old moldy bread left on offer. Something it is definitely not worth risking her life for.

All it would take is for her to continue to walk forward and toward the shore, it's a decent walk but she could easily make it by noon. _Ace would figure out what was happening when she didn't return, but really what could he do about it?_

As she fills up the canteen Esme notices something out of place at the base of one of the nearby trees. Its edges are too hard to be anything natural, but its small, like a rock. The canteen gurgles to show it's full and Esme screws on the lid absentmindedly, starting to walk toward the object.

For a moment fear pools in her stomach, thinking that it might be a trick left by the Gamemakers. A trap ready to send a swarm of mutts all over her or alert one of the Careers to her position. But after getting a better look at it she's no longer so sure. It looks like one of the two-way radios that the Careers had at the start of the Games.

She bends down, picking it up in one of her hands there's also a little box next to it, opening that she sees a device the Careers never had. It controls the channels. The Careers only had the radios, no way of controlling or monitoring them. _Someone had been spying on us._ Esme laughs out loud at the notion, _one of those Tributes is a slippery bugger. I hope I have the chance to meet him._

However, since it's abandoned the Tribute surely knows the Career pack has split up too. Taking another look at the box Esme's brows furrow. It's really similar to something she used to have in the district. When she was working with Axel, Addison and Riley back in the District- something that feels like a lifetime ago- they would occasionally work with extremely high paying clients.

In order to get in contact with them without anyone ever knowing the group was once gifted a receiver like this. However, it only worked with morse code and a flashing light. When the buyer wanted something, they would flash the code which correlated with different parts of the district. It even got to the point where they would have a couple of different clients using it so Riley would change the frequency of the receiver and through that was able to distinguish who it was buying. _It was people like Victors and Peacekeepers using it that required this amount of secrecy._ Riley showed her how to do it a couple of times, though she was never as good as using it like him.

Esme reminisces remembering the one time Riley even managed to hack into the Peacekeepers network, he got it so that the receiver played sound - something the clients never wanted - and he could hear what all of the Peacekeepers were doing around the District. _It was quite easy for him to do as well, no gatekeeping on the Network he just had to get the right frequency…_

Esme's eyes widen in a realization of what she might be able to do. _Would it work? The Gamemakers would surely have to let it happen. They could make it easy…. If Esme makes enough of a plea… Surely they would get great ratings from it…_

With a heart full of excitement Esme takes one final look forward, she's making a decision that will surely end another's life. But this, this could help him be happy for a final time. Truly happy. Taking a deep breath, and not sure that she's made the right decision Esme turns her back, returning to the boy who she left behind. Receiver and radio in hand.

 **Cassia Slander, 16, District 2.**

Instead of waiting on the shore for the others to arrive to the feast Cassia has decided to explore the forest. Keeping the shore to her back she knows which way she must return. _It's probably about time to turn around and get ready._ She's ready to ambush the others.

Blood seeps out of the cuts crisscrossing old wounds on her back through her shift, she likes to pretend that it's sweat. She needs to be the first at the feast, clinging on to the hope that there has been a weapon left there she will be able to procure before anyone else gets there.

Her stomach twists at who anyone else could be. She's still not sure what happened with Nate, but what Weiss said sticks with her. _Nate only picks battles he knows he can win. Was she just some kind of sick challenge for him?_ She's not sure she can quite believe that but she not quite sure she can't either. He left her for dead. If Carolyn hadn't come out of nowhere Cassia never would have been able to escape.

If Carolyn hadn't wanted to play with Weiss Cassia would surely have died then too. _I'm sick of being helpless._ But her lack of weapon only reinforces this idea. What a joke Cassia has been so far in these Games. Almost getting taken out at the Bloodbath by some outer district dickhead, being coddled by Nate and safe in a pack. Cassia's surely lost all the attention from sponsors she held at the beginning. _What a joke that 12 was._ Though she knows she only really got it because the Gamemakers wanted to get rid of her. _Maybe they've forgotten about it because of my poor performance._

Cassia stops dead in her tracks, ears pricked she hears something unnatural. Ragged breathing. Stooping lower to the ground she creeps toward where it is coming from, she's trained in hand to hand combat and did quite well for herself in training. But it's always difficult to be against an armed opponent, and training has long since ended.

The breathing becomes louder as she continues toward it, however, it also gets more ragged. Like whoever is making it is in a lot of pain. Cassia slinks even closer to the ground, stalking the Tribute in a catlike form. She has to be quick, she needs to get to the feast. But she might be able to get a weapon here. Especially if the Tribute can't fight back.

Pushing further forward she looks around the trunk of a tree, so close she can feel the bark against her face. There's a tribute. It looks like they were originally sitting against the tree, but the pain has caused them to slump beneath it. There's a dark patch on the ground around them, almost like their own puddle but it doesn't smell of blood. It smells salty and musky and ever so slightly of sour milk.

She can't see his face so she moves closer. When she does see his face it is so scrunched up it's almost unrecognizable. Jaw locked up, sweat has made their hair stick down their face, like they just surfaced from water. Their arms are wrapped around themselves, convulsing, dark liquid spills from their lips, it's dark as blood.

There's a spear next to him, left abandoned next to a spot that it looks like a campfire was once lit. It's long gone now though, its sooty remains and spots of charcoal the only indication that it ever existed. Cassia creeps over, picking up the spear she stares at the tribute. She got her weapon.

Cassia reminisces, remembering her Interview outfit- the makeup that looked more like War Paint. Ruefully, she picks up some of the charcoal, making the same markings on her face that the Stylists did on her at the interview. It sparks some of her old confidence back.

"Pl-" she jumps as the Tribute starts to whisper something.

"Plea-" he repeats, his face contorting further as he tries to complete his sentence.

"Plea-please j-j-j-just end it." He begs, panting he convulses further. It is blood that is coming from his mouth.

Cassia looks him up and down, _it would be a pity killing at this point._

She crouches down in front of him, the scent of sour milk fills her nostrils as she passes the spear from hand to hand. He looks at her and his eyes are so full of desperation and pain Cassia drops his eyes - unable to keep it locked with his.

"Okay," she tells him, reaching a hand out she strokes his hair. "But please, tell me who did this to you."

Her heart drops as she hears the name of the boy from her own District.

"Thank you," she replies.

Still cradling his hair she places the tip of the spear on his chest. Gently resting it there as the boy convulses again, his mouth opens and blood pools at the back of his throat. He's lost the strength to push it out.

"Ready?" She asks him.

He nods. It's a tiny moment, barely a head tilt. But she notices it all the same.

Gently, she pushes the spear just as she has been trained. Using the natural gap in his ribcage it is ever so slightly left of the center of his chest. It only takes a moment, the boy's body convulsing a final time before the cannon goes off. The last trace of his life disappearing with its echo.

 **Ace Platinum, 18, District 1.**

"Hey," Esme's voice is soft as she greets Ace again. He looks up at her, his vision fuzzy he makes out her silhouette. He's sat in the same position since she left, his head slightly slumped over and resting on his shoulder. He knows it's a lot wetter than it should be and hotter. But its almost comfortable, it reminds him of baths at home. Or of the warm pool at the training center, he used to sit in.

"Hey," he replies, his voice croaky.

Esme passes over the canteen and Ace drinks from it greedily. He wasn't aware of how thirsty he was. It only takes a moment though, the next he's spewing up the water on the ground next to him, it combines with his sweat.

"I'm sorry," Esme tells him, slinking down next to the boy she wraps him in a hug.

"S' not your fault," Ace drawls.

"For what I said earlier too," Esme continues.

"It's o'kay, you're not at the feast now. That's what matters."

"I have an idea, but only if you're up for it," Esme tells him, not quite able to look at the boy in his eyes.

"Shoot," Ace says. "As long as I don't have to get up," he jokes.

"I found this radio receiver and another two-way radio. I think another Tribute has dumped it. They were using it to spy on us. It's a lot more complex than what we were given." Esme starts to explain as Ace watches her pull the objects out.

"So some little creep was spying on us?" Ace jokes.

"That's the one," Esme replies back cheerily.

"I used something like this in my District a couple of times," Esme starts to explain. Ace cocks an eyebrow at her but she just shook her head. "I...I… think I might be able to connect them to another frequency."

"All the radios in the arena are gone, and what would we want to talk to anyone else for anyway?" Curiosity brings back some consciousness to Ace's voice.

"I'm not talking about contacting someone in the arena, I'm-I'm talking about contacting someone in the Districts." Aces eyes widen.

"You mean?"

"I mean, I want to try and help you talk to Tiffany."

Ace's mouth is frozen open in shock. Nothing like this has happened in the history of the Games. Or the history they both know. Ace is pretty sure it breaks about every rule.

"If Tiffany is watching it live now, and she got a radio I can unlock the wider frequency," Ace has no idea how Esme knows how to do all of this. Or even if it will work. But he's ready to die trying.

"Do it." He tells her. "Please, let's try," his voice cracks.

Esme looks over at him for a long time, their eyes locked. Then she starts to fiddle with the control panel, she positions it so that it's facing slightly away from her. _So the Gamemakers can see,_ Ace thinks, a smile creeping ever so slightly up his lips. Excitement makes his heart beat miles faster than it already is.

It seems to take an eternity before she picks up the receiver. "Tiffany?" She talks into it. Only static answers. Esme huffs, tinkering with the receiver and radio more Ace feels the hope start to diminish inside of his stomach. It gets a little harder to breathe.

"Is anyone receiving this?" Esme tries again, static hits her back. Hitting Ace like a truck. A few more minutes of tinkering left the static is making Ace start to see it behind his eyes. Esme looks over towards him, helpless.

"Ace, I'm so sorry, I really tried." Esme starts, grief shows in her expression.

"You tried your best," Ace tells her. His whole body feels heavy, he's suddenly enormously tired. Like he's been on a training run his whole life and he's almost at the stopping point.

"I'm sure she'd be trying to reach you," Esme says, sitting the radio against the tree she slinks back to Aces side. Wrapping one of her arms around his back she nestles into him.

"I really love her, you know," Ace states.

"I know, she knows too," Esme replies.

"I really wanted her to be my wife. I just needed to make a name for myself before that happened. I was too proud to live off of my family's charity." He continues, rambling. Static bursts from the radio but Ace ignores it.

"You did what you thought was best," Esme tells him, moving her arm in a comforting notion on his back.

"I hope she understands," Ace replies as another burst comes from the radio.

Esme jumps up, the sudden absence of her causes Ace to fall over, no longer able to support himself. He curls slightly as he sees Esme playing with the radio in the corner of his vision. "Come back," he begs. Without her, beside him, his body is suddenly freezing.

"Just wait," Esme's voice is full of excitement. Ace can hear her say something to the radio, but he can't pick it up. Esme shrieks in surprise and joy. "Ace you better hold this," she tells him, pushing him up she passes him the radio in his good arm and he props her body next to his to help support him.

"Ace?" It's not Esme's voice. It's Tiffanys, coming from the little two-way radio.

"Tiffany?" He replies, tears streaming down his face.

"Babe it's me," Tiffany replies, her voice is just how he remembers it. Soft and clear and it hits him like a wound to the gut. Hits him of home.

"I love you so much," Ace babbles, picturing her face inside of her mind.

"I love you more," Tiffany replies.

Ace reaches over, grasping Esme's hand with his bad one to help him stay grounded to reality. Part of him imagines that Esme is Tiffany.

"I guess the secrets spoiled now, but I was going to propose," Ace states, feeling sheepish even in these circumstances.

"I found the ring, it's beautiful," Tiffany replies.

"If you sell it you'll be able to live in that apartment for a few more months." Ace tells her, worry coating her voice.

"Babe, I'm not selling it. I'll keep it forever."

"But you need to be able to afford to live." Worry makes Ace's voice frantic.

"It's okay, your family and mine are going to help plus Chrystal has offered to move in with me to help afford the rent. Plus, your uncle offered me a job at his shop so I'll be okay." _My old job, Ace thinks to himself._

"Offer Chrystal my thanks," Ace says.

"Of course," Tiffany replies. Then she takes a deep breath. "Babe, I need to tell you something, something I was waiting for you to come back to tell you."

Ace's heart quickens. "What's up?" He asks her, he can feel Esme stiffen slightly beside him.

"I'm pregnant." Aces jaw drops in shock.

"Really?" He asks.

"Really."

"I'm so so so sorry I'm not coming home." Ace erupts into wracking sobs.

"Babe, babe it's okay." Tiffanys voice cracks from over the radio.

"She's going to be so proud of her father."

"Is it a girl?"

"I don't know for sure, but I have a feeling it is."

Ace looks over at Esme, who now has tears stemming from the corner of her eyes too. She hugs him tighter.

"I love you so much babe, make sure you tell her how much I love her too. How much I wish I could have been there to see her grow up. How I would have been so proud to see whoever she becomes." Ace stammers out.

"I will babe, I will," Tiffany replies.

"Promise me something," Ace stays.

"Anything."

"That she never trains to enter these Games."

"Babe, I promise."

"I love you more."

"That's impossible."

 **Carolyn Aquana, 17, District 4.**

Carolyn sits perched, atop a tree and armed to the teeth she took all she could carry from the Careers supplies after dispatching Weiss. Right now, the Trident has pride of place. She's still proud of her kill, she knows that all of the Sponsor's eyes will be on her now. _I'm probably the favorite to win._ Malicious confidence creates a gleam in her eyes.

In front of her spawls the beach. She's confident that she's found the spot the feast is going to be held. She can see unnatural edges underneath the sand, too precise to be anything natural. _It could be a mutt,_ she thinks for a moment. _Yeah, a mutt of abstract floating shapes, what will that do? Bore me to death._ She shakes her head, annoyed at her own mind.

Above her, the black smoke thickens. She rolls her eyes, it's starting to darken the arena and because of it, she can't get a good grip on when noon specifically will be. Further annoyed she glares at the shapes underneath the sand as if her look will be enough to get them to rise with bountiful treats.

It's not even as if she needs anything, she has everything she needs to see out these Games. She's smart enough to know that they aren't going to go on that much longer and she's got enough food to last a couple of weeks as well as a sleeping bag attached to the top of her pack. She could outlive all of the other Tributes if it came down to it, though she knows it won't, the Gamemakers will want to make the end as bloody as possible.

She looks forward, tilting her head to the side she lets out a menacing smile, wanting the audience to lap it up. She's telling them that she is ready, as long as another Tribute is willing to step up to the challenge.

She thinks back to her kills inside of these Games, Weiss the most recent and the largest challenge, Nirvana, a dumb bimbo - he was cute though, such a shame that didn't get further and Pricilla, she was such an easy target. Someone the Games have already forgotten about. Bloodbaths never mean much.

She wants more though, her bloodlust not nearly fed enough by only three kills. She has no way of knowing how many others have, but she wants to finish this game with much more than all of them. She wants to go down in the history books. That means she needs a couple of really good battles. Weiss was only step one.

Brefiley, she wonders what her parents must think of her. Both softies they never fully appreciated what she was doing inside of the Games. Her little sister was always too soft, caring far too much. It only gets her hurt. The only one Carolyn really cares about is her boy, she hopes he can forgive her for Nirvana. But really, there are many more exciting people she could have inside the District. Someone whose a challenge.

She thinks to the other Victors, and of the Peacekeeper that told her she'd do well in the arena. If her boy wins his Games in a couple of years he would be worth it, if not, she thinks back to the spark in the Peacekeeper's eye as the boy was hung. Well, there would be opportunities for much more interesting people to attempt.

Maybe if Carolyn won her sister would finally understand? Carolyn fantasizes about the possibility of training her younger sister, of watching her in the arena someday. Yes, she would be older than the rest who started training. But Carolyn would be a Victor. She could spend hours and hours training her and surely the Capitol could get on board with that. Victor's sibling would make a very interesting addition to the show.

Carolyn fantasizes about the moment President Crimson will congratulate her, putting a crown on her head and maybe even saying some kind words. That recognition would surely put her at an advantage. She would go to party after party in the Capitol and maybe some Capitol man- or women- would have enough power to really get Carolyn's attention. A Capitolite would make a formidable challenge, but one the Victor is very ready to take on.

Out of the corner of her eye, Carolyn watches as the platforms begin to rise, a bounty of weapons laid out in front of them. In between the weapons are some boxes with crosses on them, _medical kits._ There's food, but it doesn't seem right. Looking closer Carolyn can see mold growing on the bread and fruit, holes in the cheese and other dishes and she can even see some maggots crawling on the dishes. She shakes her head, _there's something wrong about this._

But she's committed now, just as she is about to get down from her perch she notices movement from the shadows. Another Tribute is stepping out. Carolyn presses further against the tree, as if attempting to merge with it as she watches a female Tribute walk toward the weapons.

It's Cassia.

Carolyn smiles, she failed to get Cassia once. She is so ready to take her out the second time. It was only because she was distracted she failed. She watches, Cassia appears to be limping slightly, her shirt soaked in blood and dirt and there's dried blood on her neck. _The beauty no more,_ Carolyn sneers at her inwardly.

Cassia holds a spear in one hand and an empty-looking backpack over her shoulder. Carolyn knows she could throw her trident and have it over with, but she's looking for history, not cleanliness. She will have a battle.

She watches as Cassia picks up one of the daggers on display, holding it in one of her hands Carolyn can see the gleam in her eyes. The gleam that quickly turns to pain. Cassia yelps as steam starts to come seemingly out of nowhere. She drops the dagger and Carolyn can see blisters immediately form on her skin, they are already weeping.

Carolyn softly laughs, of course, the Gamemakers wouldn't make the feast this easy. It's all poisoned. She's willing to bet that the first aid kits would only do harm as well. Ready to take on the challenge before Cassia makes things even easier for her Carolyn scurries down the tree. Taking a deep breath and squeezing her trident she walks forward and into the open ground.

"Cassia," Carolyn addresses the girl.

Cassia jumps, pivoting on her feet she turns toward Carolyn.

"Carolyn," she replies cooly. If Carolyn didn't just see her burn herself she would think this Tribute is in full health. Determination in her eyes. Carolyn has no regrets though, she twirls the trident around her body in a move not unlike what she did to first show off in the training center. This is her moment.

Cassia twirls the spear much like Carolyn just did, maintaining eye contact the two girls start to circle around each other. "Where's Nate? Not willing to save you this time?" Carolyn jeers. Cassia bites her lip, scowling at Carolyn. But Carolyn can see in her eyes pain she's trying to hide. "Oh, don't go crying on me now he can't save you. I never could stomach the two of you." Carolyn continues to provoke Cassia.

Cassia shakes her head as if to clear it "he's coming." Cassia replies resolutely. Carolyn doesn't believe what the girl says for a second. If Nate was coming he would have been here already, and Cassia wouldn't look so terrible.

"Heartbreak really is a horrible thing, especially when you've known him for what? A couple of weeks? Less than that?" Carolyn continues. "You know I bet he was the kind of guy to fuck around before he met you. Did you ever get him tested? I doubt he was very careful." Carolyn's grin almost reaches her ears.

Cassia grinds her teeth, staring Carolyn down with an expression darker than the thunder clouds. "Did you put makeup on to impress him?" Carolyn mocks, referring to the charcoal that Cassia has smudged all over her face. "I don't think you're going to win him back at this point, he's probably fucked Esme already. Didn't she list him as one of her favorites?" Cassia snarls, her hand practically shaking on her spear.

Carolyn smiles, her plan is working perfectly. "Then again from the rumors I've heard about you, he's not the only one to sleep around. Remind me again, what's your price?" Cassias eyes widen in shock for a moment at what Carolyn has said, then they narrowed to slits.

Cassia leaps at Carolyn, with more power than Carolyn thought she possessed. The wind is knocked out of Carolyn as she hits the ground hard, the other girls on top of her with her hands wrapped around Carolyn's neck. Carolyn feels the tightening of her windpipe as Cassias fingers dig deeper, Carolyn can feel wet blood start to dribble from Cassias nails.

Spluttering and gasping for breath Carolyn brings her knees toward her chest, exploding them up she uses them to push Cassia off of her, launching the girl further away and sending her clattering into some of the poisoned weapons. Cassia screams and the smell of burned hair fills both of the girl's noses as Cassia scrambles away.

The two girls face each other again, puss coming from marks all over Cassia's body where they came into contact with the weapons. Her hair has fallen off too from the corrosive poison, patches shorter than boys and others it's still draping down her back. Carolyn laughs, "not even one of your clients could love you now."

Cassia drops down, rolling forward she grabs for the spear that was knocked from her grasp she launches it at Carolyn. Carolyn narrowly dives out of the way, the spear knocking her left rib cage and causing blood to start to flow from it. The wound is as precise as a razor blade.

Carolyn smiles, reaching for the knife she strapped to her leg she pulls it up to the light as Cassia charges at her again. Carolyn slashes the knife toward Cassia's throat, but the other girls dives low. Bundling up Carolyn's knees she brings the girl down. Carolyn only smiles at this, Cassia has brought her closer to what she's looking for.

Reaching an arm out behind her Carolyn grasps the hilt of the trident that Cassia has pushed her toward. Cassia brings her arms up, moving her body forward so she has pinned Carolyn's arms down where they are with her wrists. Cassias knees dig into Carolyn's hips and Carolyn can feel Cassia panting on top of her. "As much as I love your positioning," Carolyn states, moving her hips slightly "this fight is getting a little old."

With that, she uses all of her force to get her right arm free. Cassia's weight remains partially on it but Carolyn has enough momentum to smack the stick end of the trident as hard as she can against the side of Cassia's head. It's not ideal, but Carolyn hopes it's done its job. With the old head wound and all. Cassia's eyes widen for a moment, as if in disbelief as to what has happened, then her body slumps and her weight drops.

Cassias chin smacks into Carolyns on the fall and Carolyn curses as she shoves Cassia's body off of her. "You bring a whole new meaning to dead weight," Carolyn tells her. Leaning over she brushes stray hair off of Cassia's forehead. "It's a shame, you really were beautiful."

Getting up Carolyn prepares to deliver the killing blow, a cannon goes off before she gets the chance. Carolyn's arm drops. _Oh well,_ she thinks to herself, she still got the kill. Getting up she brushes herself off before going to retrieve the backpack of supplies she brought.

That's when she notices it's gone missing. Cursing, she looks all around the tree she originally purchased in, _it has to be somewhere._ However, it doesn't appear. Annoyed and angry she debates crossing the sea to get more supplies, but the water has turned into a mass of crashing waves. It's a darker blue then she remembers like the bottom has been lowered. Looking closer she can also see enormous silver fins jut out of it. Those mutts are built to kill.

For a moment, she remembers she's from District Four. She can surely cross the ocean and she gets closer to the shore. But then she's remembering the day her boat capsized in District Four and the mast hit her and how she couldn't breathe in the ocean and how she was convinced she was going to drown and how her ears never been the same from the hit and how her father almost didn't save her in time and all of the other fishermen that have drowned because they have gone out in the wrong kind of storm.

So, she turns her back on the beach and starts to walk deeper into the forest. Ready to hunt down whoever has taken her kit.

 **Nathaniel Mattingly 18, District 2.**

Nate overheated what Weiss said about him. That he's a coward. Deep down he knows that she's right. That's why he hid in the bushes and watched as she and Cassia went head to head. Why he didn't go to try and help Cassia when there were so many opportunities that he could have. Why he only watched as Cassia slumped on the ground.

But now, now he's remembered who he was before Cassia. The boy who carved his name into some kid in his District and volunteered with blood all over his clothes. Who hunts animals with nothing but a knife. Whose broken a lot more bones than hearts.

So, he uses that to his advantage. Tracking Carolyn as she flees from the feast, imagining her to be the deer he killed the morning of his reaping. She keeps a fast pace for someone who was almost strangled to death, but Nate is faster. She's been making a lot of noise the whole way, cursing out whoever stole her backpack and stomping all over, breaking branches left and right.

It's made her impossibly easy to track. Nate wishes he was the one that stole her pack, it was genius. But in truth, he never saw who did it. He was too busy hiding on a different edge of the clearing. Watching the battle of the two women. He's confident in his chances now though.

He managed to keep his sword from the cornucopia when he fled and still has a couple of blades strapped to his belt. Carolyn has her trident and a single knife. Nate also has the advantage, not that he's really going to make this quick. This is the boy who once took three hours skinning a squirrel live. Just to see how long he could make it suffer. _I wonder how long it would take a human?_ The squirrel did nothing to Nate, Carolyn has killed the person he cared most about.

When Nate is confident they've traveled far enough away from the feast to be out of the range of other Tributes he runs ahead as Carolyn rests. She has started rests more frequently the further they getaway. Neither Tribute having a canteen for water. Grief keeps the anger flowing like novocaine inside of Nates's veins. Some, with collapse with grief. Nate uses it to his advantage.

When a few meters in front of where she has decided to rest he walks toward her. Slowly, he breaks as many twigs as he can, rustles the bushes. Feels the anger and pain mount. Oh, he's going to have fun here. His vision goes red.

Slowly, he reaches for his blade, one of the smaller ones designed for throwing. _Cassias specialty._ It seems right for him to start it off this way. He gets close - locks eyes with Carolyn who shoots upward, hand instinctively reaching for the trident she grabs one of her hands around it. The knife leaves Nate's hand almost instantly. He didn't throw it like Cassia would - blade over the handle. He used all of the force he could to throw it sideways.

It was a tough trick to learn when his trainer jokingly suggested it they never thought it would actually work. But Nate took the challenge personally. He never did it quite how they first suggested - taking off the fingers. But he got it so that it would be stuck right in there, practically disabling the hand. Carolyn screams out as the blade collides with her flesh, sideways it sinks into the bone.

"Wait," Nate tells her, his voice isn't angry. It's deadly calm.

"What do you want?" Carolyn spits at him, attempting to pull the blade out of her hand her good fingers slip on the blood that pools down her fingers.

"I don't want to do this," Nate says softly, his eyes dark. "Stick with me, let's get the alliance back together. We could take on the whole arena." Nate's face is expressionless, his voice silky as he takes a step toward Carolyn.

"You have got to be kidding me," Carolyn laughs.

Nate's' voice is soft as if he was talking to a child. "You're not running away," he tells her. Lowering his sword slightly he looks her up and down.

"To hell, I'm not," Carolyn looks frantically around but Nates's sword is still pointed toward her. She has dropped the trident. She looks down at the knife attached to her belt but Nates's gaze gets there first.

"You know, I've always found you attractive, in your own kind of way, " Nate purrs. His gaze is brazen as he looks Carolyn up and down. Eyes lingering on her legs and hips.

"What do you want Nate?" Carolyn repeats, goosebumps causing her to shiver right from her lower back upward. His gaze staring into her. This isn't the boy that she's spent her time in the arena with. It's someone entirely new. Nate knows this too. The front he was trying to put on for Cassia has snapped. It's the red that's come out.

Nate tilts his head, his eyes widening in surprise. "You're a virgin, aren't you?"

Carolyn's eyes drop, her expression is speechless.

"Am I wrong?" Nate presses, taking a step closer toward her. "That boy in your District, he doesn't have the balls. You act so tough, but really? You're just a little girl scared of the ocean." Nate laughs.

"Is that any of your business?" Carolyn replies defensively, her back arching as she grits her teeth together. Still attempting to pry the blade from her bone.

"Sure," Nate laughs. Looking her up and down once again. This time, his eyes linger on her breasts. Carolyn shivers underneath his gaze.

"You know, seeing as your going to die anyway, don't you want to try it once before you die? I have plenty of experience. Wouldn't this year's Victor be a great honor?" Nate licks his lips like a predator before a meal.

"Get the fuck away from me," rage seething underneath Carolyn's voice.

"If Cassia had asked, half as nicely as that, would you have let her go?" Nate replies, voice sickly sweet. "If you do what I say I might just kill you swiftly," Nate promises, baring his teeth.

"Some promise that is," Carolyn spits at the ground between them. Looking over her shoulder she sees that the trident has flown far out of her reach.

"I don't think you have any other option," Nate replies.

"To hell, I don't!" Carolyn scoops up debris from the ground, throwing a mixture of pebbles, twigs, and grass at Nate. Instinctively, he raises his hands to shield his eyes and Carolyn wastes no time in spinning around and sprinting back the way she had come, moving her remaining dagger to her hand.

Nate roars in rage, looking upward to see Carolyn catering off he sprints after her as fast as he humanly can. Letting his strength be his advantage he practically leaps each time his feet touch the ground. Carolyn's fast, but she's injured and tired.

Nate throws his second dagger, causing Carolyn's left leg to blow forward and her to fall on her face. Right on top of a jagged rock which pierces her cheek. Going right the way through and causing blood to pool inside of her mouth.

Carolyn twists around and stares up as Nates's body blocks her view of everything else. Blood courses down her face. "Oh, poor Carolyn, your face really is taking quite a beating these Games." Nate mocks, referencing her earlier facial injury.

"You know, this is kind of your fault. I offered you an easier option. But you rejected me." Nate places a hand to his heart. "You hurt me, Carolyn. Here's your punishment."

Screaming, Carolyn rips the blade from her leg. The other one still stuck in her bone she holds the blade in her left hand. Adrenaline keeping her standing. "You still think you have a chance," Nate mocks her scream.

Suddenly, Nate charges forward, bringing the blade down Carolyn thrusts her hand out and the blade collides with the blade already embedded in her hand. The force is enough to cause Nate to wobble. Carolyn steps forward with her own blade but before she gets the chance to swipe it at Nate he dodges out of the way, ripping his blade upwards the force causes both the blades to be ripped from her hand and blood to stream faster.

Nate rushes forward again with the sword, eyes gleaming. Carolyn steps back for his attack, bringing her remaining blade up she strikes it into his wrist. Nates grunt tells her that it had hit home as he stared her down from an opposite position.

Carolyn charges at him again, but this time Nate is expecting it. Bringing his sword up he blocked her attack and sent her blade catering across the forest floor and leaving further pain in her right hand. He had sunk his blade into it again, now an X had become carved into it. One side leaving marks deep in her bones.

Nate smiled, deeply enjoying this moment. He panted as he stared at her, weaponless and alone. "I'll give you the offer one more time," he says, running his tongue around his lips. Like a snake. He bites his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, smiling.

"Fuck you!" Carolyn yells, charging forward.

Nate brings the hilt of his sword down, hard enough against her head to cause him crimson to almost immediately run from her left nostril. Carolyn's body lurches but with a last resort effort she kicks out her good leg as hard as she could, connecting with Nates knee.

Nate lets out a moan as he collapses onto his knees and Carolyn hits the ground again, his knee-buckling and causing his body to pivot so that his back is half exposed to her. He steadies himself as he feels a weight against his back. Carolyn has jumped on top of him. As if in a piggyback.

Carolyn's fingers dig into his flesh as her left fingers claw at his face, he bites down as one finds its way into his mouth and he hears her yelp. As soon as he opens his teeth though she rips her finger away. Nate thrashes his body trying to get her off of him as she forms her finger and index into a point before sinking them deep into Nates's left eye. He screams as she digs inside of the socket, ripping the eyeball out.

Nates's survival instincts kick in and while she still struggles to keep her grip, her fingers moving toward his right eye. Nate suddenly stops thrashing, causing Carolyn's body to jerk as Nate falls backward. Crushing her underneath his massive weight he pushes up and down in. He knows it's working when he starts hearing crunches and snapping. He keeps going. The red filling what's left of his vision.

Finally, when Carolyn has stopped thrashing he stops.

Flipping over he stares down at her body chest to chest. He spots the blood that trickles from her nose and the corner of her lip. Tiny breaths come from her, almost like baby birds. Her eyes are wide as Nate tilts his head toward her, using his fingers he gently wipes the blood from her face.

"You almost had me there," he muses.

Tilting his head own he sucks the breath from her and he sloppily kisses her lips.

"But you know, the Capitol will just give me a glass eye. Just like last year's Victor." Nate laughs.

Carolyn squirms, but her strength is fleeting. He can feel that. She's just a dying animal now. "I hope you've learned what happens when you kill someone I care deeply about." He states. Leaning closer toward her he whispers into her ear. "But just in case you ever forget…"

He moves his hand so that his own thumb and index finger is in front of her, in slow motion he reaches toward her, savoring the moment. Then he plunges them into her eyes, first right then left. Ripping her eyeballs out he throws them behind him. She screams a bloodcurdling scream and he laughs just as loud as his fingers press deeply into her hips.

"I don't think you're going to survive nearly as long as I wanted," he whispers his breath wet. "So let's just get this over with, you were much more fun when you could fight." With that Nate swipes his sword across Carolyn's neck. Her breath gurgles in her throat as she attempts to breathe before drowning in her own blood.

Nate becomes coated in her blood, he looks at it in the low light of the arena. It's darkened remarkably, however, he didn't even begin to notice. Looking at the blood he does something he's wanted to try for a while, bringing it to his lips he tastes its metallic tang on his tongue.

It's pure bliss.

* * *

Authors note:

So I'm highkey back from the dead. Some of my characters actually got nominated for an SYOT award and I got the PM today so was like I better finish this story then lol. Sorry about my hiatus, I hope this monster of an arena chapter starts to make up for it.

There's only going to be one or two more arena chapters then a victory tour and an epilogue left so please stick with me! We got it this time. I will prolly just try to get it done so hopefully the new chapters will hit your inboxes soon.

There are no more Capitol focused chapters to get that elephant out of the closet so if any of ya'll were sick of them that arc is basically done.

Sorry for typos in this chapter, it's probably my favorite arena one but I wanted to get it out instead of focusing on edits and such.

Also, I do know that I left a tribute out on my death list down below. You'll have to wait for the next chapter to find out who it was. Could it be who you expect? Yes. Could it be someone different? Yes. Good luck.

Anyways, as always.

May the odds be ever in your favor,

And,

Thank you for your sacrifice.

* * *

Eulogies:

 **7th: Callum Lennon, 18, District 3. Killed by Cassia. Created by FrostyShadow. Callum had a rough go of it these Games, he got further than many people would have expected I do think. He just wasn't cut out to be Victor and he was betrayed when he had no other option. He is what we call a very unlucky Tribute.**

 **6th: -**

 **5th: Carolyn Aquana, 17, District 4. Killed by Nate. Created by TheAmazingJAJ. Gosh, darn Carolyn was such a fun character to write, I deeply enjoyed her and I will have this big place missing without her. She made the Games so fun and District 4 made such a pair of Villiage. She wanted her fame and glory and I think she achieved that. Some of the best power moves in the Game she was ruthless and ready to kill. She so easily could have been Victor.**

* * *

Sponsoring Information:

Sponsoring is now open to your Tributes, or any Tributes that you would like to sponsor.

To Sponsor please stay active on the story and then PM me following this form;

Who would you like to Sponsor?

What would you like to Sponsor them?

Why do they deserve the item?

How could they use it to win?

What has been your favorite moment so far inside of the story?

As the Games ramp up I would like an increased level of detail to your answers :) And the reviews you have previously left will be factored in.

* * *

 **The fallen:**

 **24th: Flint Fraser, 13, District 12. Killed by Blake. Created by iridescenteverdeen. Flint became one of my favorite characters and I shed some tears thinking that he had to go. He was just too young and too scrawny. His persistence optimism followed him to the end and I'll miss him.**

 **23rd: Pricilla Winters, 15, District 12. Killed by Carolyn. Created by Mewkitcat. Pricilla fought to the end, her fear leading her to turn on those she probably could have trusted. Her family will miss her deeply, its almost fitting that she followed her District Partner out.**

 **22nd: Weft Loomis, 15, District 8. Killed by Ace. Created by destiny's sweet melody. Weft has a hard life, he had a solid plan but unfortunately was carried away by talk of alliances and those he trusted. His interview will be remembered as one of the best and his quirky sarcasm will be missed. He's with his mother and sister now.**

 **21st: Cole Rockweld, 15, District 9. Killed by Cassia. Created by The-Moth-God. Cole was a Tribute I think many expected to go far inside the Games. He almost did, but the true worth of alliances was shown at his expense. Cole did not go easily and he will leave his mark in the Games with the injuries he inflicted on Ace. He died fighting, Barrick can be proud of that.**

 **20th: Trafalgar Zaun, 15, District 10. Killed by Weiss. Created by 66samvr. Trav, they were different from any other Tribute I have seen before. They were so interesting to write and almost made it away. They can find solace in the friend they made in Eva, the true acceptance of their identity she had. But it is a bittersweet ending.**

 **19th: Eva Brath, 14, District 10. Killed by Esme. Created by Team Shadow. Eva was never designed to win these Games and I think most people saw that. I added a lot of backstory to this Tribute myself and she will always have a special spot. She can be with her sisters and father now, the hope that her youngest sister is not reaped will live on with the Capitol. That's all she ever wanted.**

 **18th: Violet Mercury, 14, District 8. Killed by Blake. Created by Booklovin'03. Violet, like Eva was never meant to win these Games. I think she knew that too. I think she would be okay with that, she wasn't sure if she wanted to win. Jasper will surely mourn her and her death will affect the District. It just wasn't meant to be.**

 **17th: Harvest Kohl, 15, District 11. Killed by a mutt. Created by curiousclove. Harvest was a special Tribute, so pure at heart and trying to be positive he just wanted to protect his crush. He sacrificed himself for her, even if he did not realize it at the moment and Poppy will surely be devastated. His memory will live on, and the courageous actions that he left. I think he would be happy, Poppy told him how she felt and they we're able to share a moment. I'll miss writing you Harvest, you and Poppy we're so cute together.**

 **16th: Kalista Stone, 17, District 9. Killed by Oliver. Created by The Girl With The Knives. Kalista's death was so hard for me to write, the reason for me balling my eyes out late at night. Shes a Tribute I got attached to but never really managed to spread that attraction. Her death is going to devastate Oliver and impact his Games forward. She could have made it so much further. Never getting to show off all of the skill and potential the Gamemakers saw in her. She's a Tribute I will miss deeply.**

 **15th: Blake Calloun, 17, District 4. Killed by Poppy. Created by 66samvr. Blake, you are the Tribute that we all loved to hate. But you will be missed, your complete lack of empathy and self-centered behavior was very fun to write and you were one of the most real Tributes inside of the Games. I know your character ended pretty far off of what 66samvr originally intended every story needs a villain and Blake, you did a very good job. I also think its a little funny. Blake, a Career, ended up being killed by one of the weakest Tributes.**

 **14th: Talia Lancaster, 15, District 3. Killed by a mutt. Created by FrostyShadow. Talia, you were too pure and soft for these Games. In your complete trust of Callum, you forgot that sometimes the fight or flight instinct cannot be helped. And sometimes intentions are not kept no matter how well intended they are. I'm sorry your death was so gruesome, but the Capitol is starting to need a bit of a show. I'll miss your innocence and your story. I hope you're painting pictures from the beyond at the moment. Rooting Callum on.**

 **13th: Caroline Hollyhock, 17, District 5. Killed by Jerry. Created by jaded-love-pure-hate. Caroline, you were another character that we all loved to hate. You just wanted to keep your baby alive and ended up regretting the biggest decision of your life. I don't think that you were an honestly bad person, you just tried to do what you could to stay alive and keep your baby alive. Immoral maybe, but I don't think you truly had malicious intent. It's funny how karma catches up though.**

 **12th: Willow Ashes, 16, District 7. Killed by Carolyn. Created by Team Shadow. Willow you certainly had a journey. I'm glad you were able to come into your own for a bit at the end there even if you did not get away quite in time. I'm sorry about that. You were one fun character to write that just wound up in a bad situation. You taunting the Careers was one of the most fun scenes that I have written and I will miss that from you.**

 **11th: Oliver Apollo, 17, District 5. Killed by Weiss. Created by StephenSwiss. Ollie, you were a good man. You tried to stay true to yourself at the end and ultimately you just lost the plot a little bit. Everyone experiences death differently and for Ollie, it pushed him over the edge. Its a bittersweet ending for Ollie, he finally has escaped the present that he hated so much. Yet he has lost his opportunity for a future. He will be missed.**

 **10th: Nirvana Ivanov, 18, District 7. Killed by Carolyn. Created by BabyRue11. Nirvana you were a character I largely ran away with and loved to hate. Gosh, maybe you were a little less sleazy than Blake but you were pretty messed up too. You really did not expect to die when you did and I had a lot of fun writing about you. As weird as it sounds I'm really going to miss you.**

 **9th: Poppy Northrop, 15, District District 11. Killed by Callum. Created by curiousclove. God damn Poppy you did not have an easy ride. You and Harvest were so cute to write about and you two were so pure and god and it kills me to have to kill you. I'm proud of Poppy for taking out one of the biggest competitors inside of the Games and keeping on going despite losing Harvest. I think you are happier now.**

 **8th: Weiss Forge, 18, District 1. Killed by Carolyn. Created by Team Shadow. Weiss was such a fun character to write and I have wholeheartedly enjoyed writing her journey throughout the Games. She was a Tribute who had a real shot at winning and she almost did it. She just let her ego get in the way in the end there. She had a good battle, I think she would have been proud of how she left.**


	54. Bread and Circuses (GAMES - DAY NINE)

**Esme Layton, 17, District 6.**

Esme has been running, she's been running since the radio went silent and the cannon went off. She's been running since she closed Ace's eyes for the final time. She's been running since she closed the line with Tiffany. She's been running from accepting that her only ally and friend is now gone. She's been running from reality.

Through the night she watched further black smoke billow and collect in the air, blocking out the light and causing her to stumble over brambles and roots. She's fallen and got back up. Tripped and grazed her palms. But she can't stop. The most rest she has had is to collect more water, a backpack slung over her shoulder she's only taken the essentials. These Games are about to be completed, no point in carrying around a week's worth of supplies.

But something funny has started happening, while she's been trying to run in a straight line the forestry has become so dense it's been hard to push further. Any gaps seem to loop her back to where she started and she's become extremely disoriented inside and the fading light isn't helping.

Staring up into the sky she wonders if there will be another storm. It seems pointless now, rain would only make the tributes shelter. The Capitol wants a bloody end. She remembers a few Games ago, when the Tributes were left to fight in complete darkness, viewers able to see all with capitol cameras the Tributes had to hack at each other with primal senses. She shivers, it cuts deep into her bones. _Don't let that be us._

She can't think backward, can't afford to let herself grieve, it's so close now the weakness would overcome her. Cause her to curl into a ball and never get up. To hide until the Capitol was ready to dispatch her. She's not ready for that to be her fate, so she keeps moving. She's not tired, she's not anything, a numbness sinking deep into her bones like concrete.

She wonders if this is how those in her District felt about her? Maybe after the goodbyes, they left and stopped feeling. She hopes that's what happened, it's better if those in her District have already said goodbye to her. After all, she's done so many terrible things inside of these Games. There's as much a chance as any that she won't be accepted by her District again.

She wonders what Adam is thinking of this. He's single-handedly got two tributes into the final five. That's unheard of for District 6. Especially with Esme's official mentor being a morphling addict. _I really shouldn't have sold to her the night before the Games._ Ruefully Esme ponders that hindsight is the cruelest friend.

She thinks of the cigarettes they shared the night before the Games, she didn't feel tired then either, but in a bit of a different way. _How different would the Games have been for me if Adam had tried to convince me to take the offer of the District 9 girl?_ She didn't end up making it nearly as far as Esme has. But she had a solid group, would Esme have been able to push it over the edge?

Or, would she have ended up being killed by a Career? Blake for revenge? Hell, it even could have been Ace if they had never crossed paths sooner. She imagines him being the one to kill her. Maybe in this alternative universe, he was never injured at the bloodbath. Maybe he manages to come out unharmed. Maybe he's still alive. Maybe he wins the Games.

Esme shakes her head, hard enough to cause part of her muscle to shoot pain down her collar. She closes her eyes, squeezing them as hard and tightly as she can she pictures Adams's face. She'll come home, prove that she was worthy of believing in.

"I'll prove I'm worth it Adam," she mumbles the words to herself, staring in a trance to the sky. "I promise," she can practically feel the cameras zooming in on her face. Frozen for a moment, staring up she remembers all of the other Tributes that have died so far in these Games. It doesn't seem worth it. Not at all.

It's not worth Ace never being able to see Tiffany again, not worth being forced to kill that young girl in the Bloodbath. It's not worth not being able to go home again. It's not worth the bloodshed. It's not worth the fear in the Districts. It's not worth living for. It's not even worth it for Adam. Or anyone she's left back home. It's not worth it.

All these Games Esme has been scared, scared of what it would mean to be caught by another Tribute. Of what comes after. Or the idea of not existing. Of the idea of being killed. But really? Maybe living is the hardest part.

For a moment Esme's entire body wishes that she could swap places with Ace. That it was her talking to Riley on the phone and saying goodbye for the final time. That Ace would close her eyes before moving on. That he was still here, not even for the good of him, but for the good of her. These aren't selfless thoughts, they are selfish ones.

Crouching down on the ground Esme needs to feel something underneath her, desperately trying to collect herself she feels twigs poke at her grazes as she claws at the dirt. _Ten seconds, I have ten seconds to feel._ Esme tells herself, she can't breakdown, but she can't stop feeling for an instant longer.

 _Nine._

She remembers seeing Ace for the first time, at the Chariots they didn't say a word to each other. He was thinking she was just some game that Blake was playing. He was right, but he was never malicious. He had a kind face, Esme just didn't believe it for a Career.

 _Eight._

On the first day of training, Cassia chased her all over the center. She could tell Cassia would have thought it to be an easy job at first, but Esme needed to prove herself so she put up a fight. Taking Cassia all over the center she even started to enjoy it. Cassia was obviously fitter, but Esme had more practical experience.

Able to climb on bars and slink through gaps that seemed impossible Esme made her way. At one point Esme took a risk, launching herself at one of the punching bags she wrapped her palms around the chain and pulled herself up. Continuing further she managed to make her way onto a large metal beam that enabled the punching bags to hang. When she got to the top her hands were raw but she was feeling pretty good.

Cassia copied her with surreal strength and Esme ran on top of the beam to where they met another station. The station didn't reach to the ceiling so it has created roof that was slightly indented. Esme was puffing and exhausted at this point, hoping the other girl would take pity on her she sits on the roof. Her torso poking out of the intent.

She expected Cassia to mock her for showing weakness. But when the other girl got there she simply looked Esme up and down before sitting across from Esme. Together they panted as they tried to catch their breath.

"You're not bad Six," Cassia had told her.

"Thanks," Esme replied.

The two girls suddenly looked over to each other, their eyes locking as their breaths synced. Esme smiled and Cassia replied with her own. "So, what's it like being here for you?" Esme asked.

Cassia's eyebrows furrowed, "what do you mean?"

"I mean like you've spent your whole life training for this, dreamed about it and ready to kill and all that. What's it like now you're actually here?" Esme further explained, shifting her body slightly closer.

Cassia chewed her bottom lip, "I was never my dream, more of an expectation from my parents," she replied. "I couldn't disappoint them. They trained but never made the Games. So, I said I would be the one to get here, now I am."

"You'd do all this, the years of training, just to make your family happy?" Esme asks.

"Wouldn't you?"

Esme scratches her neck absentmindedly, pulling at the baby hairs. "I don't really have one," she admits.

The two girls sat in silence for a while longer, their breaths evening. Esme was convinced that Cassia was about to continue the chase, tapping her foot on the floor in a slightly off rhythm. Esme started to get up, sighing she was ready to continue.

But then Cassia had surprised her, reaching out almost desperately she grabbed Esme's hand. "What's it like for you?" Cassia asked. Their hands still linked.

"The worst thing to ever happen," Esme replied honestly. "A day ago I thought you'd be trying to kill me now I'm talking to you, I'm against people who've trained their whole lives and I don't have a friend. I will most likely die, very soon. And I'm trying to be okay with that but I'm not and I can pretend as much as I want but I am not ready to not exist."

The two girls stared at each other again, hands still connected both the girls felt their heartbeats accelerate. Then something fell from a rack beneath them and broke the moment, their hands fell as they jumped in opposite directions.

Cassia was panting, "stay away from me and Nate," she told Esme before turning around leaping from the roof. Esme watched her cross the center and back to Nate. She saw how his arm wrapped around her shoulders and judging by the smile on his face he was teasing her. She saw Cassia's body shake in laughter as she placed that same hand on his chest.

She promised herself then to forget that moment and went back to the others. Finding Blake.

 _Seven._

She remembered the way that Riley had tried to get to her when she was reaped. Him running at the Peacekeepers and colliding in fury. She remembers watching as he was beaten bloody. He could have died if Adam didn't stop them.

She has no doubts that they could keep going.

 _SIx._

She rememb-

A growling jump cuts her back to reality. Looking around frantically she sees a pair of pale white eyes peeking at her from the bushes. Her heart rate accelerates frantically as she looks for anywhere to escape. _Of course, they are sending mutts. They want us together._

For a second she wonders who she will have to face? But fear ignites a fire inside of her as she sees the mutt continue toward her. It's a fox-like creature, but looks far too large and its teeth hang over its lips.

Frantically, she does the only thing she can think of. Run. Catering in the opposite direction she sprints back to where she came from. Dodging roots and trees adrenaline clears the lactic acid from her legs. Getting into a rhythm breath goes smoothly in through her nose and out through her mouth.

She pretends she's in the training center and the growling coming from the creature's mouth is just Nate's deep booming voice. She's proving herself to the Careers again. To Adam. To those, she's left back home. Pushing it further the mutts growls start to get quieter. She doesn't dare to slow down yet though.

She wants to laugh when she sees where the mutt has lead her. It's surreal breaking through the trees and seeing the same waterfall that Weiss tracked them to a few days ago. It's barely a trickle now, no great roaring sounds coming from it.

Looking over her shoulder Esme sees the eyes of the creature staring at her from inside of the foliage. But it does not seem to want to break onto the grassy clearing. It's paw toeing the line it can't step further forward. Esme takes a deep breath, this means that there is another Tribute.

She reaches behind her, grasping the spear she tied to the backpack and holds it in her right hand. It was always Aces. She looks closer, seeing where he had carved his name into it right at the start of the Games. Running her thumb over the intent she looks around.

To see a blond head peek out from the forest.

 **Jerry Kapper, 15, District 6.**

Jerry stares across to see his District Partner on the other end of the clearing. In his hand he tightly grips a long knife, he's got several others strapped to his belt.

A million possibilities flash beneath his eyelids for an instant. Cunning is where he wins his battles. Not physical force. The last time he tried to do that he almost ended up dead. "Esme," he says evenly, his eyes locked on the spear she holds in one of her hands.

"Jerry," she says back just as evenly, she flexes her fingers and Jerry tightens his grip. It's looked down upon for Tributes of the same District to turn against each other, but desperate times turn to desperate measures and Jerry is _not_ letting this girl beat him back home.

"How's it been?" He asks her, jaw locked.

"Alright," Esme replies, "a little gloomy for my taste," she references the smog above them.

"Better than rain," Jerry states.

"Yeah, better than that." Esme agrees.

Tension from their last interactions hangs in between them. Neither knows what the other has done so far inside of these Games. Neither is willing to trust the other. Jerry's still hurt she abandoned him for the Careers. That she was ready to stoop to their level.

"The last time I saw you Ace was with you," Jerry notes.

Esme winces.

"I guess that answers my question," Jerry wasn't able to see the sky last night because of the smoke. But he knows how many cannons went off. He wasn't expecting Ace to last much longer.

Jerry watches the gears turn inside of Esme's brain, neither have seen a situation quite like this before. Jerry's still trying to figure out how to win her trust and get close to her. She shifts slightly and Jerry notices something.

"You took your piercings out," he says.

"I did it the night before the Games," Esme explains.

"I never noticed," he continues the small talk.

"Adam told me to do it, nothing for people to grip onto in fights and such." Esme continues. _That's it! That's the way to get to her._ Jerry keeps his cool.

Subtlety he starts to relax his muscles, hoping that she will copy him. "Been in many of those?" Jerry asks as she starts to lower her weapon.

"Not as many as I think you have," Esme replies. Jerrys not sure what he looks like, but the bruises and cuts from previous altercations have started to darken. Coraline certainly left her mark on him before leaving these Games.

"I've only killed one," Jerry states matter of factly, "maybe two." He's not too sure if Callum is dead but it's unlikely anyone else would have found him. The 48 on the bottle was for hours, it's logical that one of the cannons should have been his.

"I've only killed one," Esme replies.

"It's an easier ride with the Careers, isn't it?" Jerry asks her.

"Yeah," Esme admits. "I'm not sure it's worth it though."

Jerrys surprised, he had pegged Esme for the attention-seeking type. Surely, she would have loved her time spent with them. He thinks back to when he first found out - not even from her but some of the talks he had overheard from the other Tributes.

He thinks of the first time he ever saw Esme, a crack in his brother's door while the two of them lied naked. _Is she even ashamed of that?_ He still finds it a little funny though, that he's practically seen her naked and she doesn't even know about it. He'll never say anything, he doesn't what Melanie thinking any less of him.

He wonders what Melanie would think of him now? Seeing him poison Callum and bash the face of a pregnant Tribute. Play nice then turns on not quite allies. Show little remorse. He's just doing what he has to to get back home. No time for subtly.

Would she see it that way though? Or would she be afraid of the person that he's become? He tries to picture her now in his mind, he sees her smiling. It's worth all of it if he gets the chance to see that smile again, even if it's never directed to him or for him.

Maybe she won't forgive him at the start, but you can't really reject a Victor and anyways the Capitol knows about his crush so it would be expected they get together when he returns to the District. Even if this district that Jerry is manufacturing is there. _What she will look like next to him in bed?_

"You know, Adam would probably want us teaming up, to take on the rest of the competition," Jerry tells Esme. Smiling at his plan. He knows that she has a weakness for the male mentor. He saw them together the night before the Games. He couldn't sleep and went out wanting some last-minute advice only to see Adam with his palm to Esme's cheek as the two of them got close.

Watching from behind a door frame he saw the two of them kiss. At the time he was annoyed, thinking it would make her their mentors obvious favorite. But now? Now he knows that he can manipulate this softness to his advantage.

"Do you know whose left?" Esme asks him.

"You, me, Nate and Carolyn," Jerry replies, keeping his voice even. In truth, he has no idea if this is confirmed or not, but really who else would still be alive? Cassias cannon went off as soon as Carolyn smacked her in the head then the one that went off a little later was surely Aces. No way Callum is still alive, so he must have been the one who went off much earlier in the day.

Esme looks surprised, "Cassias dead?"

"Carolyn killed her. I was watching it." Jerry explains. He was perched up the tallest tree when they were busy battling he was able to sneak in and steal Carolyn's backpack. He was half afraid to stumble across Nate but he never appeared and Jerry was able to run away successfully, leaving one of the strongest competitors without supplies.

Esme nods. "Nate and Carolyn are going to be almost impossible alone, I'm willing to work with you. We are the last District pair left after all." Her arm drops and her spear drags along the ground.

Jerry copies her, sheathing his knife he starts to walk toward her. Esme copies him. Relief starting to show on her face. This is what Jerry was counting on. _She really is stupid._ He was suspecting it the way she joined with the Careers but didn't want to write off his District like that. Apparently, he stands corrected.

He knows he only has one chance at this, she's stronger than him and much taller. He needs the knife to hit somewhere important. A stomach wound won't do, she'll overpower him. He needs to wait till her back is turned then go for the heart. He doesn't know if he has the strength to get it through her ribcage but he knows that he needs to try.

 _I shouldn't have used all that poison on Callum._ "Do you think the others will have been brought here too?" Esme asks him.

"Probably," Jerry replies bluntly. He needs to do this now before someone else appears to ruin his plan or get him while he is distracted. "Do you have water?" He asks her, desperately hoping for some luck.

"I'm actually all out, got my back if I go fill up from the lake?" Esme asks him.

"Of course," Jerry lies through his teeth.

Esme starts walking toward the waterhole and Jerry follows her, slightly behind and to her left. She smiles at him. "You know your brother told me about you, before the Games?" She tells him.

Jerry is caught off guard, "really, what did he say?" Jerry's curiosity gets the better of him.

Esme looks over at him, on the edge of the water she goes ankle depth- pulling a canteen from where she had it attached to her lip. "He said you were pretty cool and made a joke about this girl- Mel or something. That he was waiting for you to ask her out."

"How'd that come up?" Jerry asks.

"I dunno, I think I made a joke about how we met that day and he was joking about you knowing her for years," Jerry can hear Esme's concentration as she tried to recall the conversation. He knows that this is his chance. Getting in the water behind her he waits for her to look back at him. She does, looking over her shoulder, "I'm sorry I joined with the Careers, I never meant to hurt you." Their eyes stay locked for a moment.

"I forgive you," Jerry tells her. Esme smiles at him for a moment then looks back toward the lake, shuffling forward ever so slightly he grabs one of his smaller blades. The bottle gurgles to show that its full and as Esme reaches down to close the lid Jerry makes a split-second decision to instead go for her neck.

Pushing the blade to the right side of her spine he prepares for it to sink into her flesh.

The next instant he's catering head over heels and splashing into the water. He thrashes about, trying to comprehend what just happened as he desperately tries to gasp for air. He feels knees on his back, pinning him down and in desperation, he goes completely limp. Relaxing his back muscles he rolls to the right.

In some miracle, this works and his head is breaking the surface of the water, still sputtering he tries to comprehend what just happened. "I saw you, through the reflection of the water," Esme says. Jerry isn't sure who she's trying to justify her actions to. Him or herself.

Esme stares at him. She's moved deeper into the lake and Jerry's back is to the shore. He stares her down. "It was a good plan," he tells her. Cursing himself for not thinking about the reflective quality of the water. Ironically, it's murky now. From the dirt caked on both of their bodies and from Jerry's thrashing.

Esme stays silent, her eyes flicker to a spot just over Jerry's shoulder but he can't risk turning his back to her. Not when she is still clutching her spear. "You know, in another life, we could have had breakfast together," Esme's voice is slightly strained. She looks at Jerry with such an intense gaze of concentration Jerry is sure something must be wrong.

"Too bad you were nothing but a lay for my brother," Jerry tells her. Any false pretense of friendship dropped from his voice.

Esme laughs, "if that's supposed to hurt me, it's not going to work. I know who I am Jerry. That's more than you can say."

"What does that mean?" Jerry asks her, grinding his teeth. Esme's eyes flick over his shoulder again and her voice is strained when she replies.

"It means I know that I'm not a great person, but you still think you're good and you're only lying to yourself."

"How do you know if I'm good or bad?" Jerry's breath starts to quicken and he can feel tears behind his eyes. "What means you can make that decision?"

"Jerry…" Esme starts, her voice is soft. "You've killed in these Games and you just tried to kill your District Partner after being the one to suggest being allies."

"I'm just doing what I need to survive," Jerry replies, desperation clear in his voice.

Esme looks at him for a long moment, her face dropping to that of sadness. "So am I," she replies.

Jerry feels a ripping sensation and the most intense burst of pain he has ever felt in his life. He doubles over, barely able to keep his head above the water he can't comprehend what has just happened. Esme's spear is still inside of her hand.

He hears the splashing of water as Esme desperately tries to run down the lake and out of Jerry's vision as black spots start to form in the corners of his eyes from the pain. It feels like he's being ripped in two and it only becomes more intense as the ripping moves in the opposite direction.

Looking down he can see a hole in his stomach that was not there a moment ago, from the hole blood pours from like a jug. Turning the water around Jerry from a muddy brown to pink. He desperately tries to press against the wound which burns like fire as his brain spins. He can't grasp to reality.

He feels a sharp pain from his head as his hair is jerked upwards so that he is looking directly up. But instead of seeing the sky he sees something that looks like it's come from a nightmare. It's obviously another Tribute but it takes Jerry too long to place him.

His face is covered in blood, and an empty eye socket stares blankly at Jerry. The blood - it's everywhere. Soaked into their clothes and in splatter patterns down their arms. Leafs and twigs and dirt stick to it making the Tribute closer resemble a mutt than a human. Their face is enough to send Jerry past his breaking point, screaming he tries to bring his arms and claw Nate off of him but he's quickly losing strength.

"You know, I'd do anything to have my District Partner back, and you just tried to kill yours…" Even Nates breath smells of blood. It's metallic and rancid and utterly horrifying. "I think your time is up little boy."

Jerry stares into Nates's eyes another moment before his face is smashed against the rocks at the bottom of the lake. He tries to gasp for air instinctively before his face is slammed again. He screams from under the water as he feels his teeth shatter from the impact and cold water rush over the exposed nerves. He continues to scream as water flows into his lungs and he hits the rocks again and again.

At some point, he stops screaming.

 **Nathaniel Mattingly 18, District 2.**

Nate drops the body of the Tribute as soon as the cannon goes off. Letting it sink in the shallow water face down he turns around and looks for the girl from that District. He never liked Esme, never liked how she got into the alliance through Blake. He tolerated her, only so that Blake wouldn't get on his nerves too hard.

But now, now he's ready to unleash his anger about that on her. And, seeing as Blake is already dead. He's willing to spend some extra time showing her how much he didn't appreciate Blake either.

Looking around the clearing out of his good eye he can see her running across the clearing. She's grabbed the backpack that Jerry left as well as her own. Smiling, Nate pulls out a dagger and launches it at Esme. It sails a couple of meters to her right.

He screams out, cruising Carolyn for taking out one of his eyes and destroying his vision in that way he grabs his two other daggers off of his belt. This time he throws them both slightly off from where he would have with two good eyes. One sails just to the side of her left thigh. The other hits its mark at the very top of her left shoulder blade.

The momentum causes her to tumble over herself and hit the ground in the clearing just shy of the tree line. Smiling to himself Nate sprints toward where she fell, sword in hand he anticipates how great it is going to feel to sink his blade into her pretty pretty flesh.

Esme scrambles as he gets closer but can't get up in time before Nate has pounced on top of her. His waist crushing her hips he pins her arms down by her sides, squeezing her wrists as hard as he can. His fingers grip into her tendons. She cries out.

He can feel the dagger still pressed into her shoulder creating an uneven surface for their bodies as it digs into the ground from the weight of Nate. Esme whimpers as Nate shifts his weight slightly, causing it to embed further into her flesh.

"What's the matter sweetheart, don't you like playing rough?" He teases, lowering his face so that his lips are close enough to hers that she sucks in his breath. She gags on the scent of it.

"You didn't seem to have any issues with it when you were with Blake, we could _all_ hear you then." Nate continues, enjoying the feeling of Esme squirming underneath his mass. Nate is secure in the knowledge that he has as much time as he wants for this kill.

He's lost track of the Games so isn't sure if this is the final two or three. But the only other Tributes that could be alive would be Ace or that unknown from District Three. And, if Ace was going to show up, he would have already.

Anger boils inside of him. This bitch from the other Districts turned on Weiss and ruined the Careers alliance. It's because of her it all turned to shit and he and Cassia got separated. Nate looks at her, his eye-bulging with rage.

"Why'd you do it, why'd you attack Weiss?" He asks her, saliva spraying from his mouth and onto Esme's face.

Even in such pain, the confusion can be seen on Esme's face. "What?" She asks him, grimacing as his hands get even tighter on her wrists.

"Why'd you attack Weiss?"

Esme's eyes widen in recognition. "She told me to kill Ace. The alliance was going to end no matter what. I just chose Ace over all of you." Esme's voice is firm despite the pain and fear of the situation she's in.

"You're lying," Nate tells her, his voice soft.

"What do I have to gain from lying to you?" Esme attempts to squirm, rocking her hips up and down she attempts to throw off Nates balance. But he just flattens his pelvis against her, pressing down with more force he gets even closer to her face.

Nate knows she has a good point, but his anger knows no limits. Grunting he swings his head down, knocking his skull into Esme's. Her head slams into the ground. It takes a good moment before she looks back up at him, dazed. Blood trickles from where she bit her lip in the sudden movement.

Some of the blood on Nates forehead has transferred onto hers and he smirks at the sight of it. A mixture of Carolyns and his. Nate has taken out the toughest competitor in these Games, the Victory is his to take. Now he will bask in it. Enjoying the lawless of the arena for as long and drawn out time as possible.

"I remember your interview," Nate tells her, licking his lips. He's going to get to Esme the same way he got to Carolyn.

"What about it?" Esme asks him groggily, her body has relaxed slightly.

Nate smiles, "When Drusus asked you who the most attractive Tributes were, you named me." He informs her.

Esme closes her eyes, her head swaying back and forth slightly. "Yeah… and Blake and someone else," she tells him.

"You know, I could show you a good time," Nates's lips are right next to her ear. "You still have a few moments left, why not spend them with me?" He's so close to her ear he can feel his breath blow down it.

He can see Esme smirk beneath him, her eyes still closed she whispers something he can't quite catch. "What was that?" He repeats to her, moving his ear to his lips.

"I think I'd like that," she whispers her voice thick.

Nate purrs above her, loosening the grip on her wrists he brings one hand up and strokes her cheek. He can hear her sigh as he leans forward, shifting his weight he leans in and kisses her softly on the lips before moving down and planting more at her neck.

He feels Esme shift slightly below him and moves his legs slightly to the side to let her have a bit more room. He feels one of her hands go to his back as she cups his neck in her hand. He smiles.

That's when he feels Esme jerk upward. He struggles to keep his balance but she uses the hand around his neck to swing him to the left as she forces her body to roll right. He feels himself plant hard on the clearing as Esme springs upward.

He scrambles to her feet at the same time she does. She's picked her spear back up and he holds his sword in his. He laughs. "Well played," there is no humor in his voice.

"I can't believe I thought you were in love with Cassia," Esme replies.

Nate feels his heart lurch. "I liked her, I really did. But we only knew each other for a couple of weeks. You can't love someone in that kind of time." He explains.

Esme nods, "that's where I would disagree with you," she says.

They circle each other, hands poised over their respective weapons. "I'd ask what happened to your eye, but I have a fair guess, and it doesn't end in you learning your lesson," Esme says.

"Oh, it ends, it's just a bit more fun this way," Nate tells her. "I like the challenge." With that Nate rushes forward, attempting to overpower Esme he swings his sword downwards, it just misses her chest as she springs backward. Bringing her spear up she manages to smash it against the sword.

A metallic clang rings throughout the clearing as they both move backward. Neither losing their weapon they continue to circle each other. Locked in a stalemate. "I like that you still have hope," Nate tells her, panting. "This is so much more fun when you still have hope."

Esme narrows her eyes, "this is so much fun when you aren't a psycho" she rebuts.

Nate laughs a booming laugh, "get over it." He tells her.

"No." The voice doesn't come from Esme.

Esme looks over for a split second in confusion and Nate uses it in his advantage, pushing sword he swings it toward Esme's hip. Esme drops to the ground, rolling she tumbles as Nate pushes further toward her.

Instead of swiping at her again Nate uses the moment to his advantage, reaching forward he grabs the spear from Esme's hands. She tries to hold onto it but her fingers lose grip and it clatters out of her hands as Nate looks over to see who the next threat is.

He doesn't believe his eyes.

"Cassia?" For whatever reason both Nate and Esme both blurt this out at the same time. For an instant, they look at each other and glare before Nate attempts to swipes at her again. This time, his sword slices across her lower calf. It's a glancing blow but Esme yells out all the same.

"I thought you were dead," Nate tells the figure who he's pretty sure is Cassia. Cassia with burns that look like they melted her skin covering her body and hair in patchy clumps down her back.

"You look like you're dead," Esme quips. Grabbing a dagger from her belt she looks between the two of them. Unsure of where to move they form a triangular formation.

Nate's eyes are locked on Cassia. "You abandoned me," Cassia tells Nate, her voice breaking.

"What else was I supposed to do?" He asks her.

Esme tries to use this to her advantage, lurching toward Nate her dagger glances his chest as she bounces backward. Nate uses this momentum, using his free hand he punches Esme as hard as he can in her chest, sending her tumbling back toward the dirt and the dagger to sink deeper into it as she hits it hard. She pants as she winds herself.

Nate spits toward Esme before taking a step toward Cassia. "Don't." She tells him. Raising her own spear she points it at Nates's heart. He puts his hands up, keeping an eye on Esme spluttering on the ground he stares at Cassia.

"You won't do it," he tells Cassia.

"You hurt me, Nate," Cassia replies.

Nate looks over as Esme attempts to pull herself back up, losing strength she hits the ground hard as she slips on the dirt slick with her own blood. Nate smiles before looking back toward Cassia.

"Look, I'm sorry I liked you, but let's be honest with ourselves only one of us can win these Games." Nate bends down, keeping an eye on Cassia's spear he picks up the spear he took from Esme and drops his sword on the ground.

"Even playing field, let's do this." He tells Cassia.

Cassia takes a deep breath.

"Let's do it," she tells him.

They start to circle each other, slowly Nate keeps his eyes locked with hers. She makes the first move, bringing her spear lightening fast she charges forward and sinks it just above his lip. Nate yells out as blood spits from the wound. He had forgotten how fast she was.

Nate knows Cassia will have the advantage if he lets her get away so he propels himself forward. Pushing his body on top of hers the spears clatter from both of their hands as Nate ends up sprawled on top of her. Cassia wiggles from underneath him but is crushed underneath Nates bulk.

Nate has no weapons left so he brings one of his legs up using it to pin Cassia's stomach down he uses the other to crush her left leg. Putting all the pressure that he can muster onto it she cries out. He moves his weight forward slightly, putting one of his hands on her neck he squeezes it as hard as he can while the other attempts to stop her from thrashing around.

"I...I really loved you," she wheezes out, her eyes going wide as she finds a pocket of calm.

She's stopped fighting.

Nate moves his hand slightly, enough to let her get a tiny bit of air in. "I think I could have," he admits as tears start to fall from her vision and onto his face. "I really think I could have eventually."

Cassias face crumples into one of complete sadness.

"Just end it," she tells him.

He moves both hands and positions them to be ready to squeeze into her throat, their eyes staying locked as she takes a final breath. "Ready?" He asks her, tears causing pink blood to run on to her.

"Ready," she whispers.

Nate starts to squeeze.

She looks at him with an expression of utter love and hurt that Nate feels his heart squirm and hands start to shave. Cassia moves her arms up and squeezes his wrists in a gesture of support. Nate takes another deep breath, only to find that he suddenly can't breathe.

Looking down he sees blood suddenly coating him and Cassia like a waterfall and a slight stinging sensation to his neck. He takes his hands off of Cassias throat, no longer sure if she is alive or dead he brings a finger to his neck. Only to find a long gash where his skin should be.

 **Cassia Slander, 16, District 2.**

From a state of semi-consciousness, Cassia feels the pressure of Nates's hands suddenly disappears from her throat. Automatically, she starts to splutter. Her body gasping for air that she thought she would never be able to get again she looks around frantically. _Did the Gamemakers pull Nate off?_

But, instead of them what sees is Esme. The girl stares at her with a look of utter exhaustion on her face as blood runs from her makeshift bandage she wrapped around her leg. Between them is Nate's body, still sputtering for breath he will never take.

Cassia can't comprehend what has just happened. What didn't Esme just wait until Cassia was dead? Both of the girls watch as Nate bleeds out, it only takes a minute before his cannon booms and his body has gone still.

"Jerry told me you were dead," Esme tells Cassia bluntly.

"Who's Jerry?" She asks him.

Esme nods to where his body can just be made out in the waterhole.

Cassia nods.

The two girls look at each other, utterly exhausted neither wants to move. "Wait here," Esme finally says. With a look of immense pain and determination, she walks over to where two backpacks were abandoned.

Coming back over to Cassia she pulls out a case of waterproof matches as she bundles up some twigs. She uses the material of the backpack itself to first catch, pretty soon she has a fire going.

Reaching over she picks up Nates sword, she looks at the blood coated on it, staring for a long moment Cassia is too tired to make herself feel any fear. But Esme doesn't come any closer, resting the blade directly on top of the fire she gets out a little brown plastic bottle. Iodine. "I was using it to purify water," she explains to Cassia before squirting it into the cut in her leg.

She then picks up the sword, with its red hot tip she presses it on top of her leg. _It's closing up the wound._ Cassia is surprised about the knowledge that Esme has. She never would have known to do that.

Esme passes over the Idone, putting the sword back on the fire. Cassia looks at it for a moment in confusion then catches on, copying Esme she pours it into her own cuts. Nate barely scraped her though, his mark is the purple bruises already forming on her neck.

Esme clears her throat, "can you close up my back?" she asks Cassia. Cassia looks at her for a long moment, then nods slightly. Scooching over she helps Esme remove her shirt and expose her upper shoulder. Taking a deep breath Cassia pulls Nates knife out, not wasting any time she presses the sword into it. Both Tributes smell Esme's frying flesh.

"Thanks," Esme says when Cassia throws the sword back down.

"You're welcome," Cassia replies.

"I haven't found a use for this yet, but it looks like you need it," Esme says, digging into her backpack she pulls out a small tube. Passing it to Cassia their palms brush as Cassia brings it up to her face, opening the lid of the tube it smells like peppermint.

"I don't know if it will work on chemical burns, but as good a shot as any," Esme further explains.

"How did you know they were chemical?" Cassia asks her as she starts to rub the contents of the tube - a thick paste - onto her first burn. It tingles, but it's better than the pain that was coming from it. Like dull cooking of her own flesh.

"I actually paid attention in training," Esme winks at Cassia.

"Good point," Cassia replies. "Can you help me with my back this time?"

Esme nods copying Cassia, scooching closer as Cassia lifts off her shirt Esme looks at decades of lashing scars underneath patches of burned flesh. "How's it look?" Cassia jokes.

Esme swallows, "beautiful." She replies honestly.

The two girls sit in silence as Esme rubs the burn cream into Cassia's skin. Cassia closes her eyes, listening as the sound of the forest around them starts to quieten as night approaches. She's not ready for the day to end, yet immensely grateful for its ending at the same time.

When Esme is done she passes the cream back to Cassia who holds it gently. "Thank you."

"You've already said that."

The girls stare at each other, knowing what it is going to have to come to. "Look-" Esme starts but Cassia cuts over top of her.

"Can we-" Cassia stops mid-sentence.

"You go."

"No, you do."

"Can we wait until tomorrow?" Esme asks Cassia. "I'm not ready to do this tonight." Cassia can see the grief that sits behind Esme's eyes.

"Okay," Cassia tells her.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Thank you."

The two girls lean forward simultaneously and wrap each other in a deep embrace. "Look," it's Esme's voice that finally breaks it. In the last of the light, she points out a large silver parachute that's coming toward them.

Cassia breaks out in a smile as it lands next to them, it's huge, the biggest package that Cassia has ever seen sponsored. Opening it up she laughs at its contents. A blanket that looks like it was taken from her room in the Capitol, some bread and even a tiny block of chocolate. Wrapped inside of the blanket is two pills with a note attached - _for the pain._

Cassia passes one of the pills to Esme who swallows it instantly, Cassia follows suit as they get the blanket out, moving away from the bodies, they manage to get further into the clearing. The blankets big enough to wrap under and over the girls like a sleeping bag if they lie close enough together so they do. Passing the bread of their districts to each other and savoring the chocolate as much as possible.

The sky has cleared and the anthem rings out, Cassia's hand finds Esmes as they see the faces of the past two days worth of Tributes flash above them. The Gamemakers showing them an extended cut.

Ace Platinum, District 1.

Nathaniel Mattingly, District 2.

Callum Lennon, District 3.

Carolyn Aquana, District 4.

Jerry Kapper, District 6.

"I'm sorry about Nate," Esme tells Cassia once the faces have disappeared from the sky. The Gamemakers have treated the two girls to a sky filled with constellations and an unnatural amount of beautiful shooting stars.

"I'm sorry about Ace," Cassia replies. She understands the connection they had without having to be told. Purer than her and Nates, a form of love Cassia would almost wish she would have a chance to experience.

"Loss is the backbone of the Capitol," Esme states.

"I'm not ready for tomorrow," Cassia tells her.

"Neither."

The situation is absurd for both of the girls. One could easily be back in the Capitol and being crowned victor as they speak. But neither is ready for that. The Capitol will surely expect a treat tomorrow after having to wait.

But for now, the two girls are ready to pull all that aside. Even if it is just for tonight. Both craving genuine connection which they haven't had in so long. And, a sense of safety.

"When I was feeling this way in my District my best mate would stay up all night with me- so tomorrow didn't come so soon," Esme whispers to Cassia.

"I like the sound of that," Cassia replies.

* * *

Authors note:

Yee yee ignore grammar mistakes please let's just finish this story off.

May the odds be ever in your favor,

And,

Thank you for your sacrifice.

* * *

Eulogies:

 **6th: Ace Platinum, 18, District 1, Killed by infection. Created by Greywolf44. Ace you were such a good young man. All he wanted to do was what was right and that's so admirable in these Games. I'm sorry I used your death as a cliffhanger but I don't think he'd really mind. He can rest easy knowing that Tiffany is taken care off and he has a child that will carry on his legacy. Ace, you are someone who will never fade from existence.**

 **4th: Jerry Kapper, 15, District 6, Killed by Nate. Created by Paradigm of Writing. Jerry started off as this character I almost killed off at the bloodbath then in the spur of the moment replaced with someone else. I'm so glad this happened because he really grew as the story progresses and became a bit of an anti-hero. He was just doing what he thought necessary to survive and was only 15 so he had a fragile mind. Rest easy Jerry, it'll be easier now. Thank you Paradigm for his character, I hope his death wasn't too hard.**

 **3rd: Nathaniel Mattingly, 18, District 2, Killed by Esme. Created by iridescenteverdeen. Nate was a character I adored, I loved writing his arch and making him a big ol' softie then having him snap. It is surprising he didn't get more kills, but at the same time, he wasn't ready to. Nate had two faces, but they were both as much a part of him as the other. He would be unapologetically mad about his death and that he isn't Victor.**

* * *

Sponsoring Information:

n/a

* * *

 **The fallen:**

 **24th: Flint Fraser, 13, District 12. Killed by Blake. Created by iridescenteverdeen. Flint became one of my favorite characters and I shed some tears thinking that he had to go. He was just too young and too scrawny. His persistence optimism followed him to the end and I'll miss him.**

 **23rd: Pricilla Winters, 15, District 12. Killed by Carolyn. Created by Mewkitcat. Pricilla fought to the end, her fear leading her to turn on those she probably could have trusted. Her family will miss her deeply, its almost fitting that she followed her District Partner out.**

 **22nd: Weft Loomis, 15, District 8. Killed by Ace. Created by destiny's sweet melody. Weft has a hard life, he had a solid plan but unfortunately was carried away by talk of alliances and those he trusted. His interview will be remembered as one of the best and his quirky sarcasm will be missed. He's with his mother and sister now.**

 **21st: Cole Rockweld, 15, District 9. Killed by Cassia. Created by The-Moth-God. Cole was a Tribute I think many expected to go far inside the Games. He almost did, but the true worth of alliances was shown at his expense. Cole did not go easily and he will leave his mark in the Games with the injuries he inflicted on Ace. He died fighting, Barrick can be proud of that.**

 **20th: Trafalgar Zaun, 15, District 10. Killed by Weiss. Created by 66samvr. Trav, they were different from any other Tribute I have seen before. They were so interesting to write and almost made it away. They can find solace in the friend they made in Eva, the true acceptance of their identity she had. But it is a bittersweet ending.**

 **19th: Eva Brath, 14, District 10. Killed by Esme. Created by Team Shadow. Eva was never designed to win these Games and I think most people saw that. I added a lot of backstory to this Tribute myself and she will always have a special spot. She can be with her sisters and father now, the hope that her youngest sister is not reaped will live on with the Capitol. That's all she ever wanted.**

 **18th: Violet Mercury, 14, District 8. Killed by Blake. Created by Booklovin'03. Violet, like Eva was never meant to win these Games. I think she knew that too. I think she would be okay with that, she wasn't sure if she wanted to win. Jasper will surely mourn her and her death will affect the District. It just wasn't meant to be.**

 **17th: Harvest Kohl, 15, District 11. Killed by a mutt. Created by curiousclove. Harvest was a special Tribute, so pure at heart and trying to be positive he just wanted to protect his crush. He sacrificed himself for her, even if he did not realize it at the moment and Poppy will surely be devastated. His memory will live on, and the courageous actions that he left. I think he would be happy, Poppy told him how she felt and they we're able to share a moment. I'll miss writing you Harvest, you and Poppy we're so cute together.**

 **16th: Kalista Stone, 17, District 9. Killed by Oliver. Created by The Girl With The Knives. Kalista's death was so hard for me to write, the reason for me balling my eyes out late at night. Shes a Tribute I got attached to but never really managed to spread that attraction. Her death is going to devastate Oliver and impact his Games forward. She could have made it so much further. Never getting to show off all of the skill and potential the Gamemakers saw in her. She's a Tribute I will miss deeply.**

 **15th: Blake Calloun, 17, District 4. Killed by Poppy. Created by 66samvr. Blake, you are the Tribute that we all loved to hate. But you will be missed, your complete lack of empathy and self-centered behavior was very fun to write and you were one of the most real Tributes inside of the Games. I know your character ended pretty far off of what 66samvr originally intended every story needs a villain and Blake, you did a very good job. I also think its a little funny. Blake, a Career, ended up being killed by one of the weakest Tributes.**

 **14th: Talia Lancaster, 15, District 3. Killed by a mutt. Created by FrostyShadow. Talia, you were too pure and soft for these Games. In your complete trust of Callum, you forgot that sometimes the fight or flight instinct cannot be helped. And sometimes intentions are not kept no matter how well intended they are. I'm sorry your death was so gruesome, but the Capitol is starting to need a bit of a show. I'll miss your innocence and your story. I hope you're painting pictures from the beyond at the moment. Rooting Callum on.**

 **13th: Caroline Hollyhock, 17, District 5. Killed by Jerry. Created by jaded-love-pure-hate. Caroline, you were another character that we all loved to hate. You just wanted to keep your baby alive and ended up regretting the biggest decision of your life. I don't think that you were an honestly bad person, you just tried to do what you could to stay alive and keep your baby alive. Immoral maybe, but I don't think you truly had malicious intent. It's funny how karma catches up though.**

 **12th: Willow Ashes, 16, District 7. Killed by Carolyn. Created by Team Shadow. Willow you certainly had a journey. I'm glad you were able to come into your own for a bit at the end there even if you did not get away quite in time. I'm sorry about that. You were one fun character to write that just wound up in a bad situation. You taunting the Careers was one of the most fun scenes that I have written and I will miss that from you.**

 **11th: Oliver Apollo, 17, District 5. Killed by Weiss. Created by StephenSwiss. Ollie, you were a good man. You tried to stay true to yourself at the end and ultimately you just lost the plot a little bit. Everyone experiences death differently and for Ollie, it pushed him over the edge. Its a bittersweet ending for Ollie, he finally has escaped the present that he hated so much. Yet he has lost his opportunity for a future. He will be missed.**

 **10th: Nirvana Ivanov, 18, District 7. Killed by Carolyn. Created by BabyRue11. Nirvana you were a character I largely ran away with and loved to hate. Gosh, maybe you were a little less sleazy than Blake but you were pretty messed up too. You really did not expect to die when you did and I had a lot of fun writing about you. As weird as it sounds I'm really going to miss you.**

 **9th: Poppy Northrop, 15, District 11. Killed by Callum. Created by curiousclove. God damn Poppy you did not have an easy ride. You and Harvest were so cute to write about and you two were so pure and god and it kills me to have to kill you. I'm proud of Poppy for taking out one of the biggest competitors inside of the Games and keeping on going despite losing Harvest. I think you are happier now.**

 **8th: Weiss Forge, 18, District 1. Killed by Carolyn. Created by Team Shadow. Weiss was such a fun character to write and I have wholeheartedly enjoyed writing her journey throughout the Games. She was a Tribute who had a real shot at winning and she almost did it. She just let her ego get in the way in the end there. She had a good battle, I think she would have been proud of how she left.**

 **7th: Callum Lennon, 18, District 3. Killed by Cassia. Created by FrostyShadow. Callum had a rough go of it these Games, he got further than many people would have expected I do think. He just wasn't cut out to be Victor and he was betrayed when he had no other option. He is what we call a very unlucky Tribute.**

 **5th: Carolyn Aquana, 17, District 4. Killed by Nate. Created by TheAmazingJAJ. Gosh, darn Carolyn was such a fun character to write, I deeply enjoyed her and I will have this big place missing without her. She made the Games so fun and District 4 made such a pair of Villiage. She wanted her fame and glory and I think she achieved that. Some of the best power moves in the Game she was ruthless and ready to kill. She so easily could have been Victor.**


End file.
